Twilight Chosen
by MsCogsworthy
Summary: One year after the fall of Sauron, a band of Rhunish arrive to beg aid from the High King. R for violence, etc. Speculative project re: Rhun and the Avari. Semi-canon, some original characters, post-LOTR. R&R appreciated.
1. Chapter One

The war for Middle Earth ended at the Black Gate of Mordor one morning in early spring. The forces of Sauron were scattered to the far corners of the world, broken on the rock of the free armies. We in the Forests of Rhûn followed the news with great joy, and great dread as well, for our scouts in that far land told of great masses of Rhûnish warriors returning to our lands.

  
  


The Easterlings have ever allied themselves with Darkness, preferring to seek power and domination wherever it may arise. Sauron's defeat was but the latest in a long history of poorly formed alliances; this time, however, the Rhûnmen returned with Orcs. If they could not rule all of Middle Earth, they would dominate what portion was left to them.

  
  


My Order watched the horizons for signs of their coming. The great Councils met in our Keep, trying to forge alliances and treaties where none had existed for generations. As the first forces trickled back into Rhûn, our people drew further into the Deep Forest and further into the wastelands. The Easterlings patrolled the edges of the Forest, killing those who strayed beyond its borders, gathering strength for conquest.

  
  


~***~

  
  


I was a secretary in the stronghold of the Shadowwalkers, an assistant to the Order Protector himself. I had traveled, in the relatively peaceful days before the War of the Ring, across the lands of Rhûn with my Master, studying the cultures and religions of the people of our lands, absorbing and recording as much of the languages, legends, histories and customs as I was able. I often wondered why my Master was interested in such things; our people had little dealings with the other populations of the land, and all the writing I did only seemed to be filed away in the depths of our library or in the recesses of my own mind. It was a small job, to be sure, and one not likely to bring me either adventure or advancement, but I loved the work. Until the High Council ordered me into the Western lands, I thought myself quite content to be a mere assistant.

  
  


~***~

  
  


One year after the fall of Mordor, the High Council ordered a band of Clanfolk to travel to Gondor to beg aid from the victorious Westron forces. Despite my young age and because of my travels, I was appointed the leader of our small band, entrusted to take them into foreign lands and seek out whatever aid we might find. We rode out in the evening of the third day after the Council met, a band of twenty Avari bearing the white banner of the Allied Clans. Ten of us wore the indigo, grey, or black robes of the Shadowwalkers, chosen servants of the Twilight Mother. We were mounted on the finest Plainsfolk horses, massive black animals bred to fight and kill and cover great distances; we could only pray that they would be protection against any warriors we might encounter.

  
  


~***~

  
  


The King of Gondor took his throne beside his fair Queen in the city of Minas Tirith. His companions gathered around them, content to rest a while in the comfort of the city before parting ways. In time, the Fellowship parted, returning home or undertaking other travels. The Western lands rebuilt slowly throughout the year, and life slowly returned to order. The lands of Middle Earth were at peace, and no one gave thought to the lands to the East of the mountains.

  
  


~***~

  
  


We chose to skirt Mordor, traveling along the outer edges of the Ered Lithui toward the battle plains of Dagorlad rather than the direct route through the heart of that foul country. We hoped to avoid bands of Easterlings and Orcs, for we could not stand against too great odds.

  
  


Our luck held until two weeks before Midsummer. We reached the near side of the Dead Marshes in that time and had begun to believe that we might make Minas Tirith unmolested. Our horses were forced to slow by the near-vertical ascent up the side of the mountain range we climbed to avoid the marshes, and we were entirely unaware that we were being followed until our hunters struck.

  
  


~***~

  
  


I clutched the reins tightly as Hellebore shied suddenly. My cousin, riding a little way off my right side, laughed out loud. I leaned over in the saddle, checking the ground for snakes or rodents, trying to ignore his teasing.

  
  


"Can you not control the beast, Mornië? We gave you the gentlest mount we had and yet-" His voice cut off short. I heard a strange gurgling noise; as I rose in the saddle, one of the Healers screamed.

  
  


Three massive beasts bounded up the slopes toward us, bearing Orc archers. The beasts snarled and roared, leaping at our riders. I yanked Hellebore around in a circle; my cousin fell from his horse with an Orc arrow through his throat. The Warriors closed ranks, surrounding the Mages so that they could work in some measure of safety. They tried to raise a chant and failed as the nightmare creatures tore through our fighters. I drew Rage, the long geas-blade that hung at my side, willing her to save a few of my compatriots as well as killing Orcs.

  
  


I heeled Hellebore, goading her through the protective ring of warriors toward the beasts. I could feel anger rising from the Blade, a fiery tingling that poured up my arm and seized my brain in a fog of blood-lust. The Blade snaked and twisted in my grasp, drawing me into an intricate pattern of feint and retreat. Hellebore lashed out at the monstrous beasts with teeth and hooves; I heard a skull crack beneath her steel-shod feet. I slashed at a passing rider, splitting him from hip to hip.

A horn sounded below me, yanking my attention from the battle momentarily.

  
  


Dozens of Orc riders poured up the side of the mountain. I reined Hellebore between my tiny band and the oncoming horde, the rage in my body begging for more blood. Someone grabbed my sleeve, dragging me around in my seat. I stared wildly into the green eyes of Niquë, another female Shadowwalker. She shook me until my teeth rattled together.

  
  


"We have to flee, Mornië. We cannot hope to win this. We have lost too many already. Hurry-up the slope. We must try to outrun them to the Harad Road. Do not descend the slopes-we cannot risk the horses in the Swamps." She raised her warhorn to her lips and sounded a single clear note. The ring of Warriors split open, allowing the Mages and Healers to flee first. We harassed the horses, digging our heels into their flanks, shouting commands over the din of battle. I turned back for an instant, in time to see the white banner fall, trampled beneath the feet of one of the foul creatures.

  
  


~***~


	2. Chapter Two

We fled along the mountains, still pursued by the riders. We lost half our company before night fell. As the shadows lengthened and the sky dimmed, we pulled away from the hunting Orcs, using the darkness to hide our trail. We did not stop to sleep that night, or the next.

  
  


On the third day of the pursuit, we descended the mountains into North Ithilien. The Orcs harried us past the Harad Road, then fell away, perhaps fearing to meet with the armies of the Western countries again. We still did not stop until we reached the banks of the wide Anduin River.

  
  


I slipped off Hellebore's back, grateful to put my feet on the ground once again. My knees gave out, tumbling me to the ground in a graceless heap. I counted heads as the others dismounted. Ten of us left, six Shadowwalkers and four unChosen. Yalië and Tuilë, the Healers, bustled amongst us, tending to minor wounds. I levered myself onto my feet and stripped Hellebore's tack, combed her down and released her to graze.

  
  


Niquë and her mate, the Warrior Serko, joined me in caring for the horses. I found my gaze traveling again and again to Maranwë; both her Magepartner and her mate had fallen, ensuring our escape. I ached for her but could find no words to comfort her loss. I had not yet chosen a mate and, as a scholar, I had no Magepartner-- what could I say to her that could ease her pain? I turned away, clenching my fists in frustration.

  
  


I tossed my saddle onto the ground and wrapped myself in my cloak. Using the saddle as a pillow, I curled up and tried to sleep. I watched the familiar stars pass across the night sky, but no sleep came that night.

  
  


~***~

  
  


We drove the horses hard the next day, fearful of more Orcs. My back ached from a long night on the hard ground, but I dared not complain, not while our Warriors had held the watches throughout the night, sleeping little, and that sitting up against trees.

  
  


Late in the afternoon we reached the great bridge at Osgiliath. Beyond it, in the distance, we could see the shining spires of Minas Tirith; Niquë gripped my hand tightly.

  
  


"We made it, sister. We have arrived."

  
  


We paused by the road on the far side of the river to shake the dirt from our robes and clean ourselves as best we could. Niquë refused to allow us to enter the great city like a pack of beggars, she said, so we took the time to replace the ornaments we had removed from our hair at the beginning of the journey and trace our eyes with the dark pencils our people had used for centuries. 

  
  


I fiddled with one of my braids, absently fingering the slick obsidian feather dangling from the end. My mother had given me the ornament the day I became Twilight Chosen, when I first put on the indigo robes of the Shadowwalkers. I raised a silent prayer that our settlement, hidden as it was inside the Deep Forest, would not draw the eyes of those bent on conquest.

  
  


We remounted, pairing off in a column with myself and Niquë at the head. I glanced at Maranwë where she rode next to one of the unChosen Warriors. She was pale and drawn, grief written stark on her thin face; she had not spoken, to any of us, since her mate fell. I jerked Hellebore around, settling into a steady fast pace. As we crossed the river into Gondor, I drew a deep breath, the first in many days. The smooth walls of Osgiliath loomed and fell away as we urged the horses toward the great city of Minas Tirith.

  
  


The walls of Minas Tirith rose before us in the warm evening air, a mass of stone that gleamed in the fading light like snow. Sentries ranked along the battlements, archers clad in golden armor glowing red in the sunset. They drew and sighted on us as we approached; I could hear the shouts of "Easterlings" and "Rhûn warriors" echoing along the line of archers. We rode on, slow and silent, to the very gates.

  
  


"Halt." A single archer, high on the tower above the great ironbound gates, called to us. "Identify yourselves, Easterlings, or we will cut you down where you stand."

  
  


I raised my eyes to him, lowered the hood of my cloak. "We are not Easterlings. We come on behalf of the Allied Clans of Rhûn. We must speak with the High King." The archer stared at me, considering. He turned to a young boy standing beside him and muttered to him. The boy nodded and dashed away. The archer turned back to me.

  
  


"I have sent word of your coming to the King. If he permits, you may enter the city." I nodded. We sat our horses, waiting as evening faded into night.

  
  


Some hour later, the great gates swung open. Several dozen armored men poured through the gates, surrounding our company. I saw Rauko and Sára reach for their swords; I snapped at them to leave them be. I spoke quickly to the others in our own tongue.

  
  


"Do not give them reason to strike at us. Leave your weapons where they are, do not speak, do not act against them. Remember, we must gain the confidence of the King." I waited until we were entirely surrounded, then allowed the soldiers to set the pace for our entry into Minas Tirith. 

  
  


I caught my breath at the splendor of the city. Never had I seen buildings so fair, nor had I seen so much stone in one place. Although the Shadowwalker Keep was also of stone, my home settlement was a crouch of wooden enclaves nestled into a stand of trees; this sprawling lake of pale stone and sparkling glass was as a dream to my eyes. People moved freely through the twisting streets, unafraid and unmolested, Men and Dwarves and Elves mingling together. Many stopped to stare and point at us. We must have been an odd sight, our column of olive-skinned, almond-eyed foreigners clad in deep blues and blacks and greys. I felt like a reverse image, washed as clean of color as the image in a scrying glass. I raised my hood, unnerved by the frankness with which these people stared, and satisfied myself with quick glances around me.

  
  


Our horses halted at the foot of a curving staircase. My eyes traveled along the height of it to the figures standing before the doors of the castle. A dark man, flanked by a tall Elf and a powerful Dwarf. His eyes were steely grey, piercing into me, the gaze of a king. I motioned to my company; we dismounted as one and knelt on the lowest step, our heads bowed.

  
  


"Rise, and state your business, for We greatly desire to know what has brought the people of Rhûn to Our doors." I rose to my feet, still averting my eyes. An archer extended his hand to me; when I hesitated in confusion, he placed my hand on the back of his and led me up the steps to the feet of the High King. I knelt again, unsure of the behavior expected in this country.

  
  


The dark man motioned me to stand. I slipped back my hood to see him better. His eyes studied me as frankly as those of the people on the street; from the corner of my eye I noticed the Elf watching me carefully. I spread my hands in a gesture of respect and spoke slowly, so that I would not stumble over the unfamiliar Westron tongue.

  
  


"My King, we come to beg your aid. Word reached our people of the great victory your armies wrought against the forces of Sauron. We need your assistance in our own lands."

  
  


"And what would the children of the East need with the free people of Middle Earth?" The Dwarf snarled at me, his voice harsh and deep. "You allied with Sauron in this war. Apply to him for aid."

  
  


The King laid a hand on the Dwarf's shoulder. "Be still, Gimli, son of Glóin. I am still King here, my friend." I expected the Dwarf to protest this statement; instead, he burst into a gravelly chuckle and subsided. What sort of people were these, that such an rebuke did not merit retaliation? The King turned his eyes to me.

  
  


"His question is an honorable one, Lady. Why have you come here?"

  
  


I drew a deep breath. "My Lord, not all the peoples of Rhûn were supporters of the Necromancer. There were those who feared his power and that of his followers. Now the armies have returned from war, and they are crushing our people beneath their heel as retribution for their loss. They have ever laid the blame for their failures at the feet of my people. We cannot stand against them, Lord. Not alone." 

  
  


I stood, trembling, waiting for his answer. He gazed at me a long time, his eyes narrow and thoughtful. He sighed then, and raised his voice so the others could hear.

  
  


"Come inside. It is late, you are tired. Please, accept the hospitality of Minas Tirith." He turned to the tall Elf beside him.

  
  


"Legolas. I must go and find the Queen. Will you be so good as to escort our guests into the hall and see that they are comfortably seated? We will join you shortly."

  
  


The Elf nodded and extended his hand to me. This time, I laid my hand over his, as the guard had shown me, allowing him to lead me into the keep itself. I watched him from the corner of my eyes. He was slender and graceful, with fair hair and striking blue eyes. I mentally compared him to the men of my own country; the height was similar, though our men were more muscular, and I had never seen any person of my race with hair so fair that was not bleached near-white by the sun. I blushed when he caught me looking; a faint smile whispered across his lips.

  
  


He led us into a great room, brightly lit and comfortably warm. Long tables were arranged around the room in neat columns with a single higher table running the width of the room at the very front. The Elf escorted us to one of the long tables and helped me remove my cloak. I was surprised that he did the same for all the others; no man of our country would have helped the other men in such a way. He invited us to sit and sat with us, to my left. The Dwarf also sat, glowering at us suspiciously and fingering a small axe that hung at his belt. The Elf cast a stern glance in his direction, then spoke, deliberately lightening his voice.

  
  


"You are lucky you did not arrive earlier. Three hours ago this hall was packed with people raising a din such as I hope to never hear again. We will find you something to eat as soon as the King returns." His voice was soft and musical, a pleasant sound on the ear. He pushed away from the table and rose.

  
  


"I will try to find something to drink. Would you prefer wine, or ale?" The others murmured amongst themselves, shocked. I shook my head at them before turning to him.

  
  


"My lord, if water is available, we will drink that. We can drink neither wine nor ale so close to Midsummer-it is forbidden to us during this holy season." He nodded, but his brows knit together at my word. He slipped out of the hall, leaving us to ourselves.

  
  


Niquë clutched my arm, murmuring to me in our own language. "What sort of place is this, that they do not hold the ancient ways?" 

  
  


I patted her hand reassuringly. "Do not worry, sister. They are different from us, that is all."

  
  


"Perhaps they are not even human. Perhaps they are some kind of demons, sent to tempt us." Yalië's voice was timid and trembling. She was always afraid of things she could not see, convinced that demons dwelled in every rock pile and spirits haunted every house.

  
  


"Stop that. That's foolishness, children's stories, nothing more. These people are not demons, Yalië." I snapped at her, my irritation compounded by a dull ache that throbbed between my eyes. I was exhausted and tense with the effort of the strange language and the will to restrain the geas-blade. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a soft bed and sleep the night away.

  
  


I jumped when the Elf set three pitchers of water on the table; the Dwarf was behind him, bringing glasses and his own tankard of ale. The Elf poured for all of us and settled into the chair next to me. I noticed that he was also drinking water, despite his earlier offer of stronger drink.

  
  


"My lord, you do not need to restrict yourself to water for our sake. If you wish to drink other things, we will not take offense."

  
  


He smiled at me and shook his head. "I would not do so, lady. It is not courteous amongst my people to drink when others cannot." He eyed the Dwarf. "Master Gimli's people, however, have no such restrictions on their actions." 

  
  


The Dwarf grunted at him and ignored him, a practice that seemed to arise from long acquaintance. They sat in companionable silence, leaving us to our glasses, until the tall doors at the end of the hall opened.

  
  


I thought later that Queen Arwen was the most beautiful creature I had laid eyes on, other than the Twilight Mother herself. She was tall, as tall as the King, with the same brilliant blue eyes as the Elf Legolas. The King and Queen joined us as the lower tables. Food was brought to us, strange yet delicious. My companions introduced themselves through me, since they still struggled with Westron; Arwen and Aragorn insisted we call them by name rather than by title. Before we ate, Aragorn turned to me, his face serious.

  
  


"We are unfamiliar with your people, lady. Will you tell us of yourself and your home?"

  
  


I paused to bite into a piece of bread; the taste of warm honeyed grain filled my mouth and I closed my eyes in pleasure. I swallowed and answered.

  
  


"My name is Mornië; my title is Shadowwalker. I am Twilight Chosen-a servant of the Twilight Goddess. Your people might call me a priest. Our people are not Easterlings, as I said. We are of an older race, one that has hidden in the shadows and night for many lifetimes of Men. I believe your people call us the Avari."

  
  


Legolas gasped, almost spilling his water. "The Avari? Those who refused the summons to Valinor? I thought that was only legend."

  
  


"No. Not legend, but forgotten, hidden. We must remain out of the sight of Men or risk enslavement or destruction. The Easterlings hunger after our magic, for they wield none themselves, and they hunger after our lands. They would take our people and lay waste to the Deep Forest as they have done to the other forests of our country."

  
  


Aragorn leaned forward again. "Your people refused the call? Does that mean you are mortal, then?"

  
  


I shook my head. "No. We are immortal, just as your Elves are, yet we are not quite like them. Some of us are very young- I myself have lived only four hundred lives of Men, and there are those in my settlement who are younger still, as are my companions. There are some who are many thousands of years old. Because our ancestors refused the call, we dwell forever in this world with no hope of another life alongside our cousins of the West."

  
  


The three men were silent, considering my words. Aragorn spoke again, his voice more kind.

  
  


"Why have you have come to us? How great is the peril of your people, that they would send such a young Elf to act as diplomat?"

  
  


I suddenly felt tears behind my eyes. I blinked rapidly, trying to dispel them. "The peril is very great, my lord. There are not many of us left. What you see before you are some of the last of the Shadowwalkers. Our people are dying, murdered by the armies, and every year fewer are born. When the Easterlings turn their full will against us, our people will fall. I do not doubt that another Dark Lord will rise, unopposed, and march against your lands."

  
  


Gimli snarled again, his voice seething with disgust. "You mean some Dark Elf, do you not? Since, as you have said, the Easterlings carry no magic, then your people will be responsible if another Dark Lord appears." He glared at me before addressing the King. "I say we let them fight their own battles, Aragorn. What care we if the Easterlings pillage their own country? Let them kill off the Avari-at least we will not always be watching our backs, waiting for the next threat."

  
  


My companions leaped up, hands at their weapons. I surged to my feet, Rage screaming anger through my head. I slammed my fists on the table, shouting at him in Avarin-studded Westron. "What care you, Master Dwarf? They will not stop with us. They will not stop with our lands. They will kill and maim and raise a new Necromancer, willing or unwilling, and then they will come for you."

  
  


I jerked myself away from the table, overturning my chair. I gestured at my companions, flinging my cloak over my shoulders. I whirled on the King and his friends, now standing. Legolas reached for my arm. I slapped his hand away and spat a curse at them.

  
  


"Look well upon us, my lords. We may be the last Avari you ever see. Let us go, cousins. The Council was mistaken. We should not have come here." We spun as one, dark robes flaring out in a storm of heavy fabric, and strode out of the hall. 

  
  


Niquë caught my arm as the door thudded behind us. "What will we do, sister? We needed them. Who do we turn to now?" Her face was terrified, pale and creased with worry. I flung my arms around her, allowing the tears to flow at last.

  
  


"I do not know, Niquë. I do not know what we should do. There is no one else for us to beg." I pushed her away from me gently. "Go and fetch the horses. Take the others with you. I need to be alone, to think." I watched them go, a mass of shadow against the velvet darkness. I sat down on the cold stone step and buried my face in my hands. My face was hot and sticky, the throbbing in my head more intense, and Rage was pulling insistently at my mind. I sobbed drily, my breath hitching in my chest.

  
  


I startled badly as a cool hand touched my shaking fingers. Legolas dropped onto the stone step beside me, boneless as a cat. He studied my face, his eyes concerned.

  
  


"Aragorn sent me to fetch you back. He bids me tell you not to take Gimli's words as the opinion of the King." He paused, brushing his cool fingers over my forehead. "You are fevered. Are you ill?"

  
  


I shook my head. The motion set a wave of nausea washing over me. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my fingers to my forehead. When I could, I spoke, my voice harsh and broken.

  
  


"It is merely a pain in my head. It aches, when I am strained or tired."

  
  


He touched my shoulder, his voice warm with compassion. "And you are both, for this meeting went poorly and I wager you did not sleep well on your journey. Will you not return to the hall? I promise I will not let the Dwarf insult you again. He is a good companion and friend, but he often speaks what others would merely think."

  
  


He rose from the steps, extending his hand to me once again. I gazed up at him for long moments. I looked around for my companions. He chuckled then, a rich sound like the ringing of a distant bell.

  
  


"Do not worry. We will find your friends and tell them where you have gone. Come. It is late and cold and I would rather be apologizing in the comfort of the hall." I grinned at him and took his hand.

  
  


Legolas escorted me back into the keep. Instead of taking me to the hall, he led me through a smaller door at the back of the long open hall. The room behind the hall was cozy and masculine, full of dark wood furniture and massive cases of books. Aragorn sat in a deep chair next to the fireplace, thumbing through a large leather bound book. He laid the book aside and rose as we entered.

  
  


"My lady. You have my deepest apologies. Please. Sit." He gestured at a pair of chairs facing his own. Legolas handed me into the chair and lowered his lithe frame into the other chair. I slipped my hood back and sat rigidly upright in my seat. Aragorn settled back into his own chair.

  
  


He tented his fingers before his face, studying me. His gaze made me nervous, uneasy. He spoke finally.

  
  


"Mornië. I am sympathetic to your people's problems. I would not see any country under the rule of the Easterlings, especially if such rule causes the destruction of a race of people." He measured me with his eyes, then sighed. "But. I cannot raise an army to send into an unknown land based solely on the request of a people who are entirely unknown to us."

  
  


I started to protest, but he waved me to silence. "I am King, but I am not the sole authority in this land. War cannot be declared without a consensus of kings and rulers, which I will not have without proof that your claim are valid." 

  
  


I slumped into my chair. "But, my lord. We have not the time to wait for proof to make itself known to the Western lands. Once the Easterlings gather enough strength to strike, they will move quickly, and it will be too late for armies or aid."

  
  


Aragorn nodded gravely. "I agree, lady. Time is pressing. While I cannot send armies, I can offer you another alternative."

  
  


I eyed him warily. He continued. "I once traveled with a Fellowship, a group of men dear to my heart, loyal and skilled warriors all. There are very few still available to me, but one has offered to accompany you to your country, assess the situation and return with the information I must have to make your case to my people."

  
  


"My lord? I am afraid that I do not take your meaning. What good can one man-even one man such as you describe-do for us?" My head ached and throbbed, blurring my vision until the room swam. 

  
  


"One man can do much good, given that the one man is Legolas Greenleaf." The two men grinned at each other, amused by my confusion. Aragorn placed his hand on my arm. "Be at ease, Mornië. Legolas is worth an army in himself. There are few others I would trust."

  
  


I levered myself out of the chair, steadying myself by gripping the back. "I am sorry, Sire. This was not what we had expected. I must confer with my companions so that we may decide our course of action."

  
  


~***~


	3. Chapter Three

The High King watched her leave the room. She seemed unsteady on her feet, her golden skin drawn and grey. He turned to Legolas.

  
  


"My friend, what do you know of these Avari?"

  
  


Legolas shook his head. "Nothing other than what is told in legend. They are Elves, of the same race as I, though somewhat diminished. They remained in the Eastern lands when our people migrated west. They refused the call to Valinor at the dawn of time and so dwell always in this life. I had thought them only history and legend, stories to frighten wayward children and careless travelers."

  
  


"Do you believe what she says?"

  
  


"That her people are in danger? Yes. We have both seen the Easterlings at war, Aragorn. They have a lust for power to rival Sauron himself." His eyes were dark and troubled. "I do not doubt that the Men of Darkness would crush these people underfoot."

  
  


He sank in thought. After long minutes, he spoke again. "I do not know how much aid I can be to them, Aragorn. Not alone. Are there any others who would answer your call for aid?"

  
  


A gravelly voice grated from the doorway. "I would. I do not trust these foreign Elves, but I would not see you go into the East alone." Gimli strode to his friend's side. He scowled down at Legolas. "You might want to take a stroll to Arwen's conservatory, Elf. The lady did not look well when I passed her there."

  
  


The Elf rose smoothly from his chair. "She was ill, earlier. She complained of a pain in her head, and I noted that she ate very little. I feel I should check on her." He bowed slightly to Aragorn and slipped out of the study.

  
  


He moved along the back corridor as silently as a shadow. As he entered the glass-walled room, he noted a dark figure leaning against one of the tall windows. He hesitated, watching her. He could see their common heritage in her slenderness, the grace of her movements, and the delicately pointed ears. Her face, too, was like his; thin, high cheekbones, finely-chiseled features. The rest, however, was wholly unfamiliar.

  
  


She was slight, as small as a Human woman. Her skin was pale, like the Galadhrim, but was a shade of golden like that of the Easterlings. Her hair was red, redder than Gimli's, a deep cinnamon bleached bone-white in streaks, woven with braids and hung about with ornaments and bells. Her eyes were almond, a startling shade of green, cold and icy. He noticed also the signs of great care and worry, the fatigue that slumped her shoulders and left deep shadows beneath her eyes, the taut aloofness of her posture, a certain desperate pride. He shook himself suddenly, chiding himself for his mental assessment of her. He crossed the room and touched her shoulder.

  
  


~***~

  
  


I jumped at the touch. Legolas stepped beside me, gazing out of the window over the streets of Minas Tirith. He tilted his head toward me, his eyes silver in the moonlight.

  
  


"My apologies, my lady. I meant only to warn you of my presence." He returned to staring over the city.

  
  


"No apologies are needed, my lord. I fear I am unsettled by the journey and this land of yours. I confess I find the place strange." I traced my fingers over the chilly glass. "It is so different from my home. I have never journeyed more than a few hundred miles from my settlement in all my days on this earth." I pressed my forehead to the glass, willing the headache away.

  
  


"Are you well, lady?" his voice was concerned, soothing. I pressed one palm to my forehead and shook my head slightly. He touched my shoulder again, steadying and solid. "You should sit. There is a bench in that corner, there." He slipped his other hand under my elbow and assisted me to the seat. He sat close beside me, watching me intently. I tried to pull myself together.

  
  


"You do not need to sit with me. This is no new affliction; I have had it all my life. It will cease when I have rested." I closed my eyes, feeling the blood pound behind my eyes.

  
  


"You travel with Healers-why do you not go to them, ask them to help you?"

  
  


"It is not honorable. I could not admit such a weakness before my companions. We depend upon each other to be strong and constant." I smiled weakly. "I was put in charge of this group, and they look to me for leadership. I cannot fail them."

  
  


He smiled back and laid his hand on my arm. "Nor can you continue to suffer so. If rest helps you, you should go and sleep. We have much to do in the next days, and I will need you and your companions at your best." He patted my shoulder again and slipped away into the dark.

  
  


~***~


	4. Chapter Four

"Mornië, you cannot allow them to take the leadership of this band. We are Shadowwalkers; we answer to none but our own kind." Niquë raged at me over breakfast the next day. The other Walkers gathered behind her, muttering angrily. I faced them across the table, my hands planted on the wooden surface.

  
  


Serko leaned around his mate, pounding the table with one meaty fist. His square face was drawn into a grimace of stubbornness, his brown eyes alive with anger. "The Council did not intend for us to become subservient to these people, Mornië. We will not follow them."

  
  


I drew myself up, making my voice as cold as I knew how. "Then you can go back to our people and hide in the shadows until the Easterlings come for you. I am shamed, Serko. I did not think your pride so great that you would refuse what aid we have been offered." 

  
  


He glared at me, jaw grinding. I turned my gaze on all of them. "Listen to me. I have asked them to lead us in this endeavor. The Council trusted me enough to bring you here; I ask you to trust me enough to choose someone more experienced to lead us back. We are no longer versed in warfare. These people have fought against Sauron; they have stood and they have won. We cannot afford to be without them."

  
  


Maranwë stepped forward, hissing her words at me. "We cannot trust you. You are not fit to lead. Too many have died already- how many more before you tire of this game you play?" She spit curses at me in Avarin, her pale face contorted with rage and grief. I stepped back as she struck at me across the table; before I could stop, Rage leaped into my hand, bright steel flashing in the early morning sunlight. 

  
  


Maranwë circled the table, snatching Ango's blade from its scabbard hanging from his chair. She dropped into a compact fighting stance, blade readied. I fought with Rage for control as the Blade forced me into position.

  
  


"Maranwë." My voice grated from my throat. "Withdraw. Sister. You know this Blade. Do not give her cause to hurt you." She shook her dark head, her eyes locked with mine. I glanced over her shoulder at Runyo. "Disarm her, quickly. I cannot control Rage for long." I gasped aloud as the others stepped away from us. She slashed at me. Rage blocked, pulling my arm into a swift upward stroke to catch Maranwë's blade. I whirled, my feet tracing an intricate pattern on the stone floor as we feinted and parried. She whipped the blade at me, slipping past my defenses as I fought with Rage, the tip of her sword dragging across my cheekbone.

  
  


The pain seemed to ignite Rage's hunger like a torch to dry timber. I leaped at Maranwë, driving her backward across the floor, Rage reaching for her with every step. She tripped and fell, barely rolling away before the Blade could sink into her shoulder. I raised Rage for a killing blow even as my mind shrieked at me to cease. The Blade howled with joy, anticipating blood. I felt a single tear roll down my cheek.

  
  


An iron hand arrested my swordarm as the Blade swung toward her head. Rage was snatched out of my hand, sent spinning across the flagstone floor. I was wrapped in strong arms, wrestled to my knees. Through the din in my head I became aware that other voices were shouting, someone was calling my name, the room was crowded with people.

  
  


I panted, sweat pouring off my body, trembling against the person restraining me. Maranwë towered over us, hand pressed to an arm wound I didn't remember inflicting. She spit at me in Avarin and kicked me sharply in the stomach. She was lifted off the floor, pinned in Aragorn's arms. He thrust her at Ango, shouting at him to restrain her.

  
  


I fought to catch my breath. Aragorn stood between us, roaring with rage. 

  
  


"What is happening here? I will not countenance armed combat within these walls, not even from guests. Legolas, get her out of here. The rest of you go find something useful to do." 

  
  


My companions dispersed, muttering, as I was hauled to my feet. Legolas grabbed Rage and slid the Blade into his belt. He held my upper arms tightly, scanning my face.

  
  


"Can you stand?" I shook my head; already my knees were buckling beneath me. He nodded curtly and lifted me in his arms. He carried me into the same room we had sat in with Aragorn the night before and gently lowered me into a chair. Aragorn strode into the room behind him, his face a mask of anger. He paced across the room several times, speaking to Legolas in a tongue I did not know. Legolas kept glancing at me, his face dark and worried. Several times he gestured toward the hall, pointing emphatically. Aragorn turned to me, kneeling before my chair.

  
  


"What happened?" His voice was tight and controlled.

  
  


"I beg your forgiveness, my lord. It was not my wish to break the peace of your house." I bowed my head in a gesture of submission. "If you demand it of me, I will pay whatever honor-price I must."

  
  


"What do you mean, honor-price?" His voice was quietly wary.

  
  


"My lord, it is the custom among my people to exact a price for the compromise of honor. I have no possessions or wealth of my own; I can only offer myself." I bowed my head further, waiting his reply.

  
  


He stood in a rustle of fabric. "I still do not take your meaning, my lady. Legolas, are you aware of this custom?"

  
  


I heard a soft step behind my chair. "Yes, though it is rare among our people now. She offers her blood, Aragorn, or her life. Whichever will compensate for the dishonor she has brought on your house." Legolas's voice was serious and hushed. 

  
  


Aragorn stood before me, considering my words. I huddled within my robes, waiting for his decision. Legolas spoke again, more urgently.

  
  


"Aragorn. You cannot accept, even though she offers it willingly."

  
  


"Would you guarantee her good conduct, my friend? Without reassurance that such behavior will not continue, I cannot allow the lady free passage within these walls."

  
  


I closed my eyes; banished to my rooms, then, for the duration of our stay, or perhaps turned out into the streets this very night, driven out of the city. I would return to my Master in shame.

  
  


A strong hand fell on my shoulder, gripping me reassuringly. "I will accept responsibility for your guest, Aragorn. I feel this was an unusual circumstance."

  
  


Aragorn crouched before me. "Does my friend speak truly, Lady? What passed between you that caused you to fight?"

  
  


I could barely meet his eyes. "I am only a scholar, my lord, a secretary. I have no authority in our ranks despite the Council's orders, and so they already do not trust me. My intention to let your men assume leadership does not sit well with them. They refuse to follow your men and they challenge my right to lead."

  
  


Aragorn gripped the arms of the chair. "But why draw steel on them? Why on her? Have you no way to solve your differences otherwise?" Legolas placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  
  


"You must think us barbarians, Sire. I did not wish to fight her. Maranwë's mate and Magepartner were killed shortly after we left Rhûn. She is bitter and grieved and looks for someone to blame. She knows-they all know-that drawing on me incites the Blade I carry."

  
  


Legolas's breath caught audibly. He knelt beside Aragorn, holding Rage in one hand, away from his body. "It is a geas-blade, is it not? I have read of these also. Aragorn, I could sense the anger, the lust for blood, the moment I touched it." I reached for the Blade, suddenly desperate for the comforting weight of her in my hand; I clutched her to my body once he released his grip. He turned his eyes to my face.

  
  


"You cannot control it, not once you are threatened, is that correct?" I nodded.

  
  


"I can control her as long as the threat is very slight or my opponent stands down. Maranwë refused to withdraw. I do not know if she was angry enough to fight or despairing enough to willingly bring death upon herself. Perhaps it was both." I slipped Rage back into her sheath and rubbed my forehead, trying to drive out the memory of her face as I raised the Blade above her.

  
  


Aragorn stood, clasping his hands before him. "Will they cooperate with my men? I cannot send Legolas and Gimli out unless you can assure me that they will not be harmed."

  
  


I met his eyes. "They will not be harmed. I will set my own life in forfeit as a guarantee of their safety."

  
  


The King nodded, then turned and pulled a book of maps off a low shelf. He spread the book open on a wide table and motioned me to join him. Legolas slipped a hand under my elbow to support me. As I seated myself on a tall stool by the table, Legolas rummaged in a long drawer under the table; after a few moments, he pulled out a square of fabric. Folding it into a thick square, he pressed the makeshift bandage to the cut on my cheek until I raised my own hand to my face. Aragorn watched us, then pointed to a map of Mordor, the tiny sliver of Rhûn visible to the east.

  
  


"We have very little information about Rhûn and no good maps to speak of. Can you fill in the information we need?" I nodded and took up a quill. I laid a sheet of paper over the page of the book and quickly traced the outline of Mordor. I lifted the sheet and sketched in a map of Rhûn, adding more of the Deep Forest, and the Sea of Helcar. I marked a cross by the Forest and a circle around the island in the Sea of Rhûn.

  
  


"The Forest is larger than it appears on this map-it must be ancient, that it shows our woods to be so small. My people live here, at the cross. The Shadowwalkers live on this island in the sea. Our cousins, the Plainspeople, live in the north at the foot of the Iron Hills. There are a few other Clans scattered through the wastes. The Easterlings are nomadic peoples, moving from haven to haven throughout the year, but there is a large city-I confess I do not know the name-here, on the eastern shores of the Sea of Helcar." I marked the position on the map; the city formed the third point of a triangle whose base extended from the Sea to the Iron Hills.

  
  


Aragorn stared at me strangely. "Are you sure of this city, Mornië? It is there now, not in ruins, a living city?"

  
  


"I believe it is, my lord. Unless things have changed more than I expected since we left Rhûn. I have not been there myself, but my Teacher traveled near that city during the war against Sauron. He said it was a great city, very ancient. He did not dare travel close enough to learn the name, but it is not unknown to our Plainspeople."

  
  


He and Legolas exchanged glances. Legolas whispered, "Cuiviénen. The Lost City. The birthplace of Elves."

  
  


~***~


	5. Chapter Five

The next few days passed in a flurry of activity. I reconciled, mostly, with my companions; Maranwë remained apart from me, refusing to be in the same room if it could at all be prevented. I tried several times to speak with her, but she simply fixed me with a blank gaze and turned away. Eventually, I decided to leave her to her thoughts, hoping that she would find someone to talk with.

  
  


Aragorn helped us prepare, planning and plotting and tracing routes. He called my company into his study the evening before we departed. He seemed strangely agitated, pacing through the small room. Legolas leaned against the wall by the wide windows, Gimli beside him. I watched Aragorn pace for many minutes.

  
  


"My lord. What troubles you?" I was puzzled by his actions; he had shown himself to be fairly even-tempered, and his upset worried me. He turned to face me, smiling tightly.

  
  


"I have ill feelings about this journey." He stopped, staring into the fire.

  
  


Legolas broke in. "Aragorn has requested that we go to Lórien, to see the Lady Galadriel before the last of the people there travel across the sea." He exchanged glances with Gimli. "He is also expressing a desire to travel with us that far."

  
  


"But, my lord, surely your presence is more urgently required here, in your own kingdom?"

  
  


He smiled wryly. "Indeed. But Arwen is beloved here also; she is more than able to handle the throne until I return." He turned back to us. "My mind is settled on this. I must also speak to Galadriel on another matter. And so I will ride out with you on the morrow, for one last small adventure with my old companions." 

  
  


The conversation turned to small details of packing and travel. I slipped out, weary and troubled, leaving the Warriors to turn over our plans once again. I roamed through the silent halls, drawn to Arwen's conservatory. I had spent as much time as polite in that room since I arrived; the hushed, green space soothed me and reminded me of my home. Arwen had noticed early in our stay and had extended a standing invitation to visit at any time.

  
  


I pushed the door open and wandered inside. My fingers brushed soft petals and slick green leaves, flowers and plants that I could not identify but had come to love. I lowered myself onto the low stone bench in the corner, gathering my robes around me. The moon shone in through the tall glass windows, bathing my hands in silver and shadow.

  
  


I heard a slight sound behind me. A pale form moved towards me through the foliage, fluid and graceful, and dropped onto the bench beside me. I smiled.

  
  


"My lord, I do begin to think that you dog my steps on purpose. Have I committed some offense, that you are moved to follow me so closely?"

  
  


He tried to look severe; the effect was marred by the ghost of a smile hovering at the corner of his lips. "If you remember, it is my business to keep watch over certain guests in Aragorn's house, particularly if they are in the habit of walking out of important meetings."

  
  


"Not so important, sir, if they could do without you." We sat for a while in comfortable silence before I turned to him again.

  
  


"Why did you take responsibility for me, my lord? Why not allow the King to collect his honor-price and be done with it?"

  
  


He turned to me, his lips pressed in a thin, hard line. "Aragorn would not demand such a thing of you. It is not in his nature to have another suffer for sake of his honor. Nor is it in mine to watch any person cower, expecting punishment. You may be accustomed to harsh treatment from your people, but cruelty is not acceptable within our lands."

  
  


I sat, stunned. He narrowed his eyes at me, studying my reaction. I looked away quickly. How had he known?

  
  


"You wince every time a hand is raised near you. Your eyes are always on our hands as if you are waiting to be struck, and you cannot bring yourself to look at us full in the face. Such behavior must be learned, and I am sorry to see a fellow Elf so trained."

  
  


I picked at the skin of my left thumb, tearing into calluses hardened by years of scribing. I had often avoided my Master's questions thus, knowing that he hated the habit. Legolas, I feared, would not be put off so easily, so I hastily reached for some distracting subject.

  
  


"What think you of Aragorn's decision to accompany us to Lórien?"

  
  


He sighed, closing his eyes in slight irritation. "I think he longs for the past. I think he misses the adventures. I do not doubt his commitment to the throne, but I do think he wants one final adventure."

  
  


"Legolas, why does Aragorn wish us to travel to Lórien? I know that it is on a route to Rhûn and will be no inconvenience to us, but I do not understand the need."

  
  


He did not oblige with an explanation. "Galadriel is wise. Perhaps he feels she has words we should hear." He rose from the bench, stretched like a cat, and yawned ostentatiously. "It's late, and we leave early. You should sleep." He motioned me to precede him and closed the door gently behind us.

  
  


~***~

  
  


The journey to Lórien, though long, was blessedly uneventful. Niquë rode beside me most of the way, I assume to compensate for our harsh words at Minas Tirith. That was ever our way, to ignore difficulties between us until they no longer existed. We chatted of many inconsequential things, often forgetting our Western companions and slipping into Avarin for minutes at a time. Legolas rode with us at times, bearing Gimli on the back of his horse Arod as well. The two pointed out interesting sites as we journeyed north along the great river, joking and singing to keep our spirits high. Aragorn rode with the Warriors most of the way, discussing combat and legends of ancient battles.

  
  


We stopped one evening above the Falls of Rauros; while the others set about making camp I stood, awed by the massive Argonaths, unable to tear my eyes from the calm stone faces that seemed to gaze backward across centuries unnumbered and lost to the minds of men. Unexpectedly, I felt a terrible sorrow pressing on my chest. Tears poured down my face, a flood of salt as bitter as the sea. I gasped for breath, harsh sobs catching in my throat, my fists tightening in the sleeves of my robe.

  
  


Gentle hands grasped my shoulders, squeezing them through the heavy fabric of my robes. Legolas stepped closer to me, drawing me against his body. Strong, slender arms wrapped around my upper shoulders; a soft voice murmured in my ear.

  
  


"Mornië, why do you weep?" His words were meant to be soothing, but the kindness in them seemed to increase the pain to an unbearable level. I sobbed aloud, bowing my head into the angles of his arms. "What pains you, my friend?"

  
  


"I do not know, Legolas. I cannot express it." I tried to control the weeping, to regain the silent composure that our people prized so highly. I wiped tears from my face with my sleeve.

  
  


"Try." He waited.

  
  


I gestured toward the Argonaths. "They are timeless, are they not? They have been standing there for countless ages, and will likely be there for countless more." He nodded against the top of my head. "It is so...sad..."

  
  


"Why? Our kind are accustomed to immortality." 

  
  


"Long after your people leave this place, they will still be here, witness to all the ages of the earth. Like my people. Like me. I will never leave this world until I die. I will not even have the comfort of my kin and another life when I weary of this one." 

  
  


He sighed, a deep exhalation that stirred my hair. "You are young yet to worry about growing tired of this life, Mornië. You have many years of your life left and should not lose yourself in mourning for the future."

  
  


"I have already tired of it, Legolas. You could not understand-your people are many and strong and have hope. When we go into the Deep Forest, perhaps you will understand my sadness."

  
  


~***~


	6. Chapter Six

We rode into Lórien at the end of six weeks' hard travel, all of the Walkers bone-weary and sick of the road. Our Plains horses held up well, but I desperately wished I was at the end of my journey and need never mount again.

  
  


Aragorn told me that the last time they had come to Lórien they were met by Galadhrim archers, escorted through the deep forest to the halls of Galadriel. There were no guards to greet us, no escort, no whisper of movement in the trees as we passed. The forest was empty and still. 

  
  


We saw the first Galadhrim as we approached the hall itself, two or three slender Elves wafting among the trees. No one stopped us or questioned our presence there. Legolas and Aragorn grew more and more solemn as the extent to which Lórien had diminished was revealed.

  
  


Niquë reined her horse close to me as we dismounted. She clutched my sleeve, drawing me aside from the others, and whispered to me in Avarin.

  
  


"Sister, I thought Legolas said that his people were plentiful and their cities thriving." She glanced around her, tucking a few strands of dark brown hair behind one ear. "This place looks like our home."

  
  


I nodded and placed my hand over hers on my arm. "My thoughts are of the same, sister. He has told me that his people are leaving this land for the Undying Realms; perhaps this city's inhabitants have passed already."

  
  


We were welcomed finally, at the base of the winding stairs that spiraled into the treetops. Galadriel herself greeted us, her eyes shining like stars with the wisdom of millennia. She embraced Aragorn and Legolas in turn and bent to place a single kiss on Gimli's broad forehead. Then she turned to us, standing in the rear like, I thought, stormcrows at a wedding. She extended her hands to the others, beckoning them into her presence. She took each of their hands in turn, whispering into each ear for a brief moment. Our Warriors were awestricken, as children meeting our own Twilight Mother again. I hung in the back, still apart from the others, shy of this wondrous creature who looked so like a goddess among us.

  
  


I saw her eyes on me and turned away from her. I felt the touch of her in my mind and covered my face with my hands. Niquë touched my back and I shook off my sudden fear, smiling at her from the safety of my hood. A male Elf appeared before us, motioning us to follow him. As we filed out of the clearing, Galadriel placed a slim hand on my arm, holding me back. She smiled reprovingly.

  
  


"Why did you turn away, Shadowwalker? What cause have you to fear me?"

  
  


I could not bring myself to look into her eyes. Her fingers brushed my hair, a whisper of contact. "Perhaps it is not fear. I sense a great sadness in your heart. You mourn what your people cannot have, or what you believe they cannot have. I have seen your thoughts, troubled as they are. You carry a great burden of Blade and Blood, ties to your people and to a calling you do not understand. And yet, there is great desire within you, the desire to change the course of history, your own and that of your people. I must think on your cause longer ere you leave this place." With that, she pushed me gently in the direction the others had taken and ascended the winding stairs.

  
  


~***~

  
  


"Where are your companions from?" The bright-haired Elf turned to me across the low table, his blue eyes questioning. My companions clustered at a table of their own, unwilling to mingle with our Western companions. I sat silently, apart from the rest, wrapped in my thoughts, until Legolas spoke. I smiled slightly; these foreign Elves were inquisitive, curious almost to a fault. I shook the brooding from my mind.

  
  


I leaned back in a soft chair, adjusting my body into its gentle curves. "We are from the Deep Forest near the Sea of Rhûn. My home settlement is further away from the sea's edge; the others are from other settlements within the Forest. Ango is from the Plains, as was my mother." I shifted again, pushing a cushion behind my head.

  
  


Legolas frowned slightly. "You speak Westron very well. And you're learning Sindarin quite quickly."

  
  


I smiled again. "You forget, I am a scholar. Your Elvish is not so very different from our own tongue. And I was chosen because I have an aptitude for languages. My Teacher was a traveler and taught me bits of the languages he learned abroad." I lifted a silver goblet and drank deeply of the cool wine; now that Midsummer had passed, we could once again indulge, until Midwinter.

  
  


He was still studying me. "How do you come to be Shadowwalkers?"

  
  


"Ah. Now, that's a story long in its telling." I sat up again, feeling my back stretch deeply after weeks in the saddle. "The magic in our country has gone strange; there are too many who are captivated by dark power to be safe as a magic-wielder there. Those with any amount of talent are given the choice to bind ourselves to a particular deity. The Shadowwalkers are like priests, I suppose you might say, bound in service to the Twilight Mother." The other Avari bowed their heads briefly, making a sign of respect and obeisance at the sound of her name.

  
  


I stopped, looking away from Legolas. "I had a calling, even as a child, that the people of my home settlement did not understand. I am not a magicwielder, not of any consequence, and I am not inclined to combat, but I was Chosen by the Mother despite that. I was a student first, then became my Teacher's secretary and researcher. I expect that I shall see out my life as a teacher or an assistant somewhere." Although the thought had formed itself in my head many years before, somehow it sounded so bleak, spoken aloud amongst strangers. Was my life destined to be so small, despite my wishes to the contrary?

  
  


Aragorn lowered himself to a cushion beside me. "Lady, how did you come by such a horse? I have never seen its like before."

  
  


I smiled, grateful for the distraction. "You would not have, hopefully. She is a warsteed from the Plains. They sell very few of their animals-other than the culls- and even then they rarely sell to Outlanders. I have her because Ango is one of the Plainspeople. His people gave us the horses to speed our way to Gondor."

  
  


"It's the ugliest beast I've ever laid eyes on." Gimli's voice was low and gravelly. Several of the Warriors started to protest, but I only laughed. He still did not trust us, but I tried not to let his dislike upset me.

  
  


"That she is, Master Gimli, that she is. But what she lacks in beauty she more than makes up for in strength and heart and brains. The Plains warriors train their warsteeds to be a partner in battle- she can fight with me on her back and defend me if I fall. She's more trustworthy than many people I know."

  
  


Legolas turned back to me. "Tell us more about the Shadowwalkers, Mornië. You said they live apart from the other Avari-why is that? "

  
  


I sighed. I did not want to speak of my people that night. Every thought of them in this place only highlighted how desperately necessary our presence in Rhûn was while at the same time making me reluctant to return to my home. 

  
  


Aragorn saw the frown cross my face, and tried to distract Legolas from his questioning. "Isn't Mornië a Sindarin name? What does it mean, and how did you come by such a name?"

  
  


"Darkness. It's an ill-favored name, I know." I chuckled to myself. "It's appropriate, though, for all the Shadowwalkers are similarly named." I reluctantly drew breath to talk about the Walkers, but Aragorn interrupted me again. His eyes on me were gentle and compassionate; he knew that I was upset and deliberately steered the conversation away from my personal history.

  
  


~***~

  
  


Sometime around midnight, I excused myself from the conversation and wandered further into the forest, following the ethereal lights of Galadriel's hall. I strolled among the trees, touching the silvery bark, gazing up at the stars.

  
  


A soft voice behind me caused me to jump. "Lady, you must take care, wandering in Lórien. Many have done so and been lost to the world forever." I turned and met Legolas' blue eyes. I smiled nervously, looking away. Blast the Elf- why did he make me so uncomfortable?

  
  


He fell into step beside me as we moved among the trees. I studiously ignored him, hoping that he would go away and leave me with my thoughts. Instead, he stopped at the foot of a gigantic tree. He grasped the sleeve of my robes, forcing me to stop in front of him. His face was troubled, his eyes dark.

  
  


"I wish to apologize, my lady. I did not intend to upset you earlier. Sometimes I am too curious of others and do not heed how my words may hurt them." I waved my hand, trying to cut him off, but he persisted. "Please. It was unkind of me to continue to ask you about yourself when you clearly indicated that you did not wish to discuss such things. Please forgive me." 

  
  


I turned away from him again, staring at the stars. "There's no need to apologize, my lord. It was but a little thing, not worth dwelling upon." I kept my back to him so he would not see the tears in my eyes. Why would he not go away?

  
  


"I disagree, lady." He was in front of me, so quickly that I did not see him move. He gently brushed a tear off my cheek. "I would not have wished to cause you such pain." 

  
  


I wept, ashamed of my weakness before this calm being. He did not touch me, this time, merely stood and let me weep. I wrapped my hands in my cloak, keening an old mourning song. The notes rose, eerie and full of pain, weaving amongst the strange trees and unfamiliar stars.

  
  


The grief surged up in me, strong and relentless, driving me to my knees with racking sobs. I was no longer sure for whom I wept- my fallen companions, my people, or myself. I tore at my robes and hair, overwhelmed with loss and fear and loneliness. I drew my Blade, prepared to continue the ancient mourning tradition even to the ritual bloodletting. I was aware, dimly, of wiry arms around me, fingers prying the Blade from my hand, a musical voice murmuring soft Elvish words in my ear. I turned my face into the Elf's shoulder and wailed like a bereft child. He stroked my hair, rocking me under the canopy of leaves.

  
  


~***~

  
  


Legolas watched the pale woman leave the table, her dusty blue robes rustling around her ankles. He felt a pang of guilt, remembering the look on her face when he asked about her people. He truly had not meant to trouble her; he was curious about this woman, the odd guttural accent in her voice, her warm skin, the strange cinnamon shade of her hair, her frosty green eyes. She and her companions were so often silent, like stone statues on their massive horses, that the sudden pain on her weary face frightened him.

  
  


"Legolas." Aragorn leaned across the table, an amused look on his face. "Where are your thoughts, my friend?"

  
  


Legolas shook his head. "I was thinking of the task ahead." He picked at the hem of the tablecloth absently.

  
  


Aragorn laughed, a sudden burst of sound. "You lie poorly, friend. I would wager your thoughts just left this clearing with a certain female person. Admit it, Legolas. She is a beauty, and you've been watching her all evening." 

  
  


Gimli joined the teasing gleefully. He turned to Aragorn, chuckling. "I would join that wager, my friend. You have seen his eyes, have you not, when she is not looking? It is all he can do not to walk into trees, he is so distracted."

  
  


Legolas scowled darkly. "I was merely curious about her. We know nothing about her, about any of them, save that they are Avari. That in itself is a condemnation to many. And her companions keep apart from us and do not wish to speak." He glared at their amused faces.

  
  


Gimli rumbled from across the clearing. "You could know more about her, lad, if you follow her." Legolas stared at him, stunned into silence. The Dwarf had maintained his initial attitude of distrust for the foreign Elves; this encouragement was completely unexpected. Gimli chuckled. 

  
  


"Go on. Before she slips your grasp entirely." 

  
  


Aragorn motioned at him with his cup, grinning into his wine. He slipped out of the clearing, followed by his companions' laughter. He could see her ahead of him, a dim, dusty figure in the pale starlight. He sped up to meet her, catching her sleeve, forcing out the words that could not express his regret. He watched as her granite demeanor dissolved into grief such as he had not seen in any person either Elf or Man. Stunned, he saw her draw a long blade from a hidden scabbard at her waist. The starlight danced on a delicately etched blade, her fingers wrapped around a carved bone handle. He caught his breath, recognizing her geas-blade.

  
  


She laid the Blade against her arm, preparing to slice into her tawny forearm. He grabbed at her blade hand, forcing her fingers off the hilt, driving the weapon into the mossy turf with a smooth motion. He gathered her into his arms, murmuring as to a child, running his slender fingers through her long hair.

  
  


~***~

  
  


We rose early on the third day, gathered our things, and prepared to journey further north by the river. Aragorn would be leaving us to return to Minas Tirith and his rightful place. Galadriel met us there, stopping each of my companions to speak a few words and offer a parting gift. She drew me aside, her chilly blue eyes boring into my soul.

  
  


"I have thought on your troubles for many hours. Your grief is very great, so great that it threatens to consume you. You cannot allow yourself to slip away into the shadows of your mind; you are needed in this endeavor." She touched my chin delicately. "Why do you hide your troubles, your self, from those who would befriend you?"

  
  


I fidgeted. "I cannot be vulnerable before them, Lady. I am unproven, a foreigner, a person of no great consequence. And I am a woman. How will these men respect or trust me if I am weak?"

  
  


She laughed, a bell-like tone in the still air. She fastened an enameled leaf to my cloak and hugged me. She whispered in my ear. "Do not trouble yourself. You will prove your worth yet. And there is one among you who would share your burden, gladly." I followed her eyes over my shoulder. Legolas glanced at us briefly before turning his attention to the bundles on his horse. She smiled at me, suppressing laughter. "Go, dark child, and do not forget that even in the midst of sorrow, there can be great joy. Do not let your name lead you away from happiness. And do not despair for the future, for true desire may overcome the curse of history."

  
  


I stared at her, confused. She laughed then and leaned to whisper again. "All that keeps your people from the Undying Realm is the belief that they may not go. If you should decide that you wish to go, speak the name of Galadriel when you come to the White Ships, and you shall have passage."

  
  


~***~


	7. Chapter Seven

We journeyed upstream for miles, weeks passing as we traveled. The Plains horses loved the free head we gave them, eating up the miles in long loping strides that easily matched the speed of the lighter Rohirrim mount that Legolas and Gimli rode. I also enjoyed that section of the journey, for it gave me an opportunity to watch the others without notice.

  
  


I fretted over my Shadowwalker companions. Maranwë avoided all contact with anyone whether of our original company or the two new additions. The Warriors were restless with the peaceful trip; I saw them training every evening after we stopped, pacing through the intricate patterns of their obscure Sword dances. Gimli joined them on occasion, for the Warriors welcomed any opportunity to practice with an unfamiliar opponent.

  
  


I found myself watching Legolas most often. He put himself to every task with a fierce determination that belied his gentle exterior and graceful body. The sun glittered in his fair hair, picking out strands of gold and cream; his eyes were unnaturally brilliant, the color of deep lake water. More than once, I shook myself out of some pleasant daydream of walking with him in the forests of my childhood. And more than once, I noticed his eyes on me also.

  
  


Often, Legolas sought me out when we rested. We talked of different things, legends, poetry, ancient lore. He slipped in and out of his language as easily as diving into a pool of warm water, drawing me into the unfamiliar tongue; he picked up words of my language quickly and remembered them to use later. We walked, when we could, along the river or into the trees. He would point out trees or forest creatures, talking of his childhood and his home in the great forests of Mirkwood. I began to feel comfortable with him and with Gimli; they were the first unChosen friends I had since I was young in the Deep Forest.

  
  


On one quiet evening, I sat alone at the foot of a crumbling stone wall. I closed my eyes and idly reached out for energies in the forest around me. I teased a strand of glowing energy from a nearby puddle of water, playing with the pale blue threads, winding them around my hands, twisting them into complex patterns and forms.

  
  


"What are you doing?" The strands disappeared. I opened my eyes and looked up into the Elf's face.

  
  


"Just...exercising, I suppose you could say." He looked at me oddly and sat down on the ground beside me. "I have to keep myself sharp. I'm too used to the schedule we have at home, constantly working or studying."

  
  


"You never talk about your Talent." Although it was a statement, I could hear the question behind his words. 

  
  


"No. Truth be told, I have very little in the way of Talent. Most of our people wield some amount of magic; some are extraordinarily skilled at it, but I am not one of those. For me, magic is difficult. It demands a price, both physically and mentally, that I can seldom afford to pay. But it is so clean here, the forests are so strong and alive, that it is almost effortless." I caught his eye; the curiosity had returned. "Why? Did you wish to know something?"

  
  


His brow creased slightly; I could almost see him weighing his words. "What do you do?"

  
  


"Do you mean what magic, or what vocation?"

  
  


He thought carefully. "Both."

  
  


"As for magic, I suppose I do what all wielders do, really. Work with natural energies, shift things, move things around. I can Heal, a little. I See, as well." He blinked at me in surprise. "Not always. Not accurately all the time. It's more like I see...possibilities...things that might come to pass, sometimes things that I need to know, things that affect those close to me. I play with the weather a bit- but I cannot do that as often as I would like, for fear that I would disturb the natural rhythms of things. So I mostly do little things like campfires and lights and weatherproofing. Nothing significant." 

  
  


He chuckled with me. "Those skills could be quite useful as well. And otherwise?" 

  
  


"Otherwise, I am exactly what I said I was." I examined his face before continuing. "I am a scholar of history and languages and religions. I serve as my Teacher's secretary, I do research, I am occasionally called on to serve as a priest, and sometimes I teach younger students."

  
  


He touched the blade at my side. "And you have this."

  
  


I laid my hand over the Blade. "That's not exactly a Talent. At least, it's not my Talent."

  
  


"How did you come by this?" His voice was firm, allowing no evasions.

  
  


"I think it was a mistake. Or an accident. I don't think I was supposed to have it." I drew a deep breath. "I lied, before, when I said I had never gone far away from my home. I traveled with my Teacher, five years ago. I wanted to see what lay beyond the borders of our land- I'd only heard stories, rumors from travelers. He traveled into Mirkwood that year, and convinced my parents to let me go along."

  
  


I drew the Blade, letting the fading light dance on the etched steel. "We were still near the Iron Hills. I stumbled on a traveler, a Plains Elf, while gathering wood for the fire. He'd been attacked by...something, some kind of animal. He was dying, he was in terrible pain. I tried to Heal him, but he was too badly injured for my meager ability. The last thing he did was put the Blade in my hand."

  
  


Legolas touched my hand where I gripped the handle. "And the geas passed to you." I nodded. "You have said a little of it before. What is it? What does it have you do?"

  
  


"She likes anger. She feeds on anger, on rage. My Teacher told me she would never have stayed with me if I didn't have what she wanted. In return, she allows me to fight. She makes me a very competent swordswoman. Not as good as Aragorn, not by half, but enough to do a good deal of damage and keep myself in one piece. But I can't control her, and I can't not fight when she senses the possibility of combat, not without almost crippling myself." I sighed and sheathed the Blade.

  
  


"What is her name?" The question surprised me. No one I knew, other than he, seemed to know anything about these Blades. I wondered where this Elf had read about such things. I turned the Blade over in her sheath so that light fell on the inscription. He stroked the carved lettering; his voice, when he spoke, was bewildered.

  
  


"Aha. That's Quenya." He turned his icy eyes to me. "Mornië, how would one of your people come to have this blade?"

  
  


"I don't know. No one knows. We have searched and searched, all the books in all the forms of Elvish, all the records of every Clan and Rhûnish people we could collect...nothing. Not a single mention of a Blade named Rage."

  
  


~***~

  
  


I slept fitfully that night. My dreams were strange and troubled, full of images of a dying Elf or Walker, blue eyes and shining blades and rings and great walls of flame. I tossed restlessly in my bedroll until first light, then struggled out of the blankets in peevish irritation, treading lightly so as not to awaken the others. I packed my things into Hellebore's saddlebags, then pulled out a set of currycombs and began to work over her iron grey coat. She muttered to herself around a mouthful of oats- a special treat- and leaned into the brushes, twitching one ear.

  
  


I combed until her coat was smooth and silky, then turned to examining her legs and feet. I ran my hands down each muscular leg, probing for bruises or cuts. I carefully lifted each massive, steelshod hoof, picking out small stones and packed dirt. As I lifted her near hind leg, she leaned hard against me, a trick she had picked up from the other horses during our trip. I grunted as the whole weight of her body settled on my hunched back. I slapped at her flank, unable to stand up, but she ignored me.

  
  


"All right, little sister. You've had your fun. Up with you, then, and let me stand. Come on. Enough of your nonsense." I leaned against her as hard as I was able. A soft whistle sounded from her far side, and she suddenly leaned away from me. I stood, cursing in my own tongue and several others, and ducked under her head to see who had called her. 

  
  


Hellebore stood, perfectly still, allowing Legolas to stroke her face. I set my arms akimbo.

  
  


"You shameless flirt. Hellebore, you never let anyone touch you but me before." I scratched her neck and smiled at Legolas. "Good morning. Thank you for getting this great lump off me."

  
  


He laughed, the first I had heard. His voice, like Galadriel's, was full of crystal and music; I thought briefly that he would fit in well with my own people. "You looked like you could use some help, though I admit I was loath to disturb her rest. She looked quite content."

  
  


"I'm sure," I replied drily. "My backside is her favorite place to rest these days." His eyebrows shot up. Oh dear. I'd shocked him. "Pardon my lack of refinement. My Master used to say I oughtn't be allowed to speak before I'd eaten breakfast. I'm afraid I have no control over my words until I've had a cup of tea."

  
  


He grinned, sunny and warm. He extended his arm to me, just as if we were back at Minas Tirith rather than in the middle of the woods. "Shall we rummage about in the packs, then, and find you a cup of tea?" I grinned back at him, took his arm, and let him lead me back to camp.

  
  


~***~

We rounded the lower edge of Mirkwood Forest several days later. We planned to cut across the forest at a narrow place on the map. My fellow Walkers were irritated that we had come so far north and complained at every moment that we had not proceeded directly to the Sea. I could feel my patience fraying and withdrew from them more as each day passed. 

  
  


We made camp just inside Mirkwood the first night. Legolas warned us not to wander far from the fire, but as the evening wore on I noticed that Maranwë was missing, and the warrior Runyo as well. We tore into the woods, searching for them. The Warriors outpaced us all, disappearing into the heavily wooded hills. I sprinted after Legolas, reaching out with my Sight, trying to locate any of them. I Saw a great wave of evil creatures swarming through the woods, the two Walkers lying at the foot of a statue. A wall of rage slammed into me, Aha reaching for me along the thread of Sight I threw out, plucking at the edges of my mind. I stumbled, almost fell, then I heard Niquë's horn and the fighting.

  
  


I crested the hill and recoiled at the scene. Legolas, Gimli and the Warriors battled against dozens of Orcs; blades flashing, arrows singing. The rage reached out for me again, roaring in my veins like fire. I drew the Blade and, before the bloodlust took me, I whistled for Hellebore.

  
  


The Orcs around my companions heard the high shrieking notes of my whistle. Two jerked around and dashed toward me. My Blade glittered in the sunlight at the edge of my vision; I saw the Orcs approach as in slow motion. I whirled low, avoiding their rusty blades, slashed out in a twisting, circular pattern. The first fell, spilling his innards across the forest floor. The second roared and charged at me, weapon sweeping toward my legs. I crouched, then propelled myself off the ground. I cleared his blade, balanced delicately on one shoulder, and lopped off his head.

  
  


Rage was singing now, a chorus of death and anger crashing in my head. A coughing roar echoed behind me; I barely heard Gimli's shouted warning. I flowed around, my feet tracing an intricate dance on the leafy hillside, my blade weaving and darting. Two more Orcs fell, cut through. A third hung back, drawing a heavy arrow. I rocked lightly on the balls of my feet, waiting. His arrow loosed with a great booming like a drum of war. I dodged lightly aside, striking the arrow out of the air. He rushed me; I feinted around him and ripped the Blade through his back.

  
  


The creatures came in waves; I was barely aware that the others were dashing toward the horn that continued to sound. I was too caught in Rage's hunger, too absorbed in the need to kill to follow them. Hellebore appeared beside me; I swung myself into the saddle and gave her the signal to fight. We wheeled and spun, her hooves flashing and pounding against thick skulls. Rage snaked out of her own accord, catching Orcs as they tried to slip past Hellebore's teeth and hooves.

  
  


A sharp whistle rose over the din of battle. Hellebore dropped to all four feet and broke away from the crowd of Orcs. I hauled on the reins, screaming at her, the bloodlust strong yet, but she refused to turn back. We galloped through the woods, tree branches whipping at my face and hair, passing Orcs in full flight. Hellebore surged through the woods and skidded to a halt mere inches from Legolas.

  
  


He grabbed her reins in one hand. He looked into my face, read the traces of Rage's hunger still in my eyes, and stood well away from my reach. I stared into his eyes, heavy and dark with sadness.

  
  


The hunger fled. I dropped the Blade as I slid out of the saddle. I miscalculated the amount of energy Rage had sucked from me; my knees buckled as my feet hit the ground and I dropped into a heap. I was shaking badly, my mouth was dry, and my head throbbed with pain. Legolas knelt beside me, dragging me to my feet by one arm. I turned my face toward him, panting.

  
  


"What is it? What's happened?" 

  
  


He pointed toward a crumbled statue. "They have fallen."

  
  


~***~

  
  


We buried their bodies in the soft earth of the forest, marked by piles of strange black rock. I stood over their graves for long minutes, silently asking their forgiveness for my failure to care for them, our inability to return them to their homes. We were all shaken, equally stunned by the deaths and by the presence of Orcs so far out of Rhûn. Legolas and Gimli packed the camp quickly, preparing to flee before any more Orcs appeared.

  
  


I stood beside Hellebore, obsessively checking her legs, worried that the dash through the forest had injured her. I leaned into her warm hide, breathing in the hot musky scent of her mane. My fingers tightened in the coarse hair; I was shaking again, still weak from the battle. I felt a hand on my back, gentle and soothing. Legolas's voice murmured in my ear.

  
  


"Are you well enough to travel?"

  
  


I nodded weakly. "As long as I can ride."

  
  


His hand rubbed along my shoulders, stroking my neck. "I would ride with you, but I daresay Gimli would have my hide if I left him to cope with Arod alone." He smoothed my hair away from my face. "Mornië. It is not easy for you, is it? Even though Rage makes you skilled and strong, she cannot help you live with what she makes you do." 

  
  


I shook my head, swallowing back a knot of nausea. "I hate it. I hate the smell of blood. I'm not trained for it. Even now, after so many years, I cannot reconcile my calling with this... thing I have become. And it is of no use. I cannot even protect my friends."

  
  


He leaned his forehead against the back of my head; I could feel his breath soft across my neck and cheek. "Would that I could lighten that burden for you. Know this, though- if you need anything of me that it is in my power to give, you have only to ask." 

  
  


He slipped away then, to finish packing the camp. I hoisted myself slowly into the saddle, reeling with the height, and nudged Hellebore over to the others. Gimli glanced up and smiled grimly at the mounted Walkers. Legolas hoisted him onto Arod, then mounted lightly. I reined Hellebore short and nodded at them, raising my voice in a last attempt to break through their grief and confusion.

  
  


"Let us ride. We are but a few days from the Deep Forest. Keep caution, and be aware of what is about you."

  
  


~***~


	8. Chapter Eight

We rode hard, tense and nervous, always watching for signs of Orc or Easterling. The border crossing was uneventful; indeed, I barely noticed the terrain flattening and drying as we pulled further and further away from Mirkwood. We pushed the horses harder, faster, until Sára's horse was lamed. We limped into a Rhûnish haven in the curve of the Carnen river, relieved to find the watering hole mostly deserted for the winter. A single family remained, one of the merchants who still traded with my people; he was willing to sell us lodging for a few days on the condition that we be out before the next caravan arrived in one week. We were not invited to his hall, but were allowed to occupy several tents a respectable distance from his home and family.

  
  


I was glad of it. From my many encounters with his family, I had learned that his middle son was, like most Easterlings, an ardent supporter of any ruler who was bold enough to make a bid for power. He had served in the wars, his father told me, and was now home. I remembered with distaste the last meeting I had with young Azak. He was a despoiler as well as power-hungry, and I had managed to slip away from him only by ducking under a moving horse that happened to be carrying my Teacher. He stalked me until we left the haven that time, and now I hoped that we would not meet again.

  
  


Fortunately, perhaps, the merchant took a great liking to Gimli and Legolas. They took advantage of this to glean information about the rest of Rhûn that we were unable to supply. This was truly only an inconvenience in that the two spent large amounts of time with the merchant's family, and I thought it was inevitable that they should encounter Azak. However, the inevitability fell to me in that quarter.

  
  


On one such evening, when Legolas and Gimli dined with the merchant, I took Hellebore out for a run; she needed the exercise after several days of rest, and I wanted to be away from the haven for a while. As I walked Hellebore along the dusty path before the hall, a dark figure rushed at me from the shadows. Azak grabbed at me, his face wild and full of hatred. He dragged me close to him and whispered in my ear.

  
  


"I think we have some unfinished business, you and I. Do you remember me, little Elf? I've thought about you, often. And here you are, without the protection of your friends." His hands clutched at me, forcing the skirts of my robes up my thighs, ripping buttons from the front of my indigo robes.

  
  


Rage pulled at me, urging me to draw her, but I could not reach the scabbard. I had stripped off my belt and stuffed the Blade deep into a saddlebag as I exercised Hellebore. I tried to fight off the rising anger. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I gripped my fists so tightly my palms bled. I struggled against him to reach Hellebore and my saddlebags, but he slapped at her rump, startling her away. I shouted twice, Sindarin and Avarin words of alarm rising above the general noises of animals and the conversation in the hall.

  
  


I heard a great shout from the hall, a roar of anger that pained my ears. The door above me burst open; a slender form hurtled down the steps followed by an enraged Gimli wielding his great axe. I lunged for Hellebore, my hand flying of its own accord to the saddlebag, drawing Rage close to me. One of the Shadowwalkers rounded the corner at a dead run, hurling a stone from a desert sling through the gathering crowd. She missed her mark. I was knocked off my feet, the belt with Rage spinning away across the cobblestones. Azak saw the foreigners in my company, raised his dark, clammy face to me and grinned, a wide reptilian smirk of pleasure. His hand snaked out, wrapping itself in my long hair. My head was snapped back; I felt the cold kiss of steel against my throat.

  
  


"Someone will be sorry to lose you, won't they, my sweet? I'll have some fun from you one way or another this night. They won't want you then, will they, your precious Walkers. And then I'll have you to myself." His voice hissed in my ear. He jerked me onto my feet, yanking me to face the others on the steps. The dark man pressed the blade into my flesh; I felt the skin break and a hot trickle run down my neck. He raised his voice for the benefit of those on the steps. "Now, let's play a game, shall we, gentlemen? Whose toy is this lovely thing? And what price does her pretty head have upon it?" He yanked my hair, forcing a small shriek from me. I tried to chant, under my breath, but lost the focus I needed to complete the casting, and Rage was too far away to be of aid.

  
  


Rauko snatched his sword from its sheath. "Unhand her, Easterling, and you shall keep your head on your shoulders."

  
  


The man yanked back on my hair again."Yours, Walker?" he pressed the knife tighter. I felt the blade sink deeper, could hear my breath whistling between my teeth. "No. I think not. You haven't the look of a man about to lose such a rare treasure. I know she belongs to none of the other Walkers here, and no Elf would favor a Dwarf. Perhaps the other warrior, the one who died so tragically?" 

  
  


I saw a blur of motion from the corner of my eye. Legolas's bow was drawn, an arrow aimed at Azak. "Release her, sir, and I will let you live." His eyes were cold and hard, his hand steady as stone. I stilled, praying that the shot would be true and would not miss its target.

  
  


I heard Azak's foul chuckle against my cheek. "Ah, the Elf. By all means, my lord. Shoot. Let us see how much you value her life." He thrust me between Legolas's arrow and his own body. He twisted my hair viciously. I felt a single tear slide down my cheek as Legolas lowered the bow.

  
  


"I compliment you on your excellent taste, my lord." I shuddered violently as his slippery tongue ran up the side of my face. "Quite an exquisite taste indeed. I wonder if she will taste so sweet to you, without her pretty face?" His hand flashed, dragging the blade across my throat and slashing toward my face. I felt a silvery, tearing pain across the right side of my face. I shrieked, fighting against his hand in my hair. He forced me to my knees. I whimpered as my knees struck the hard ground, pain shooting up my legs. He struck at me again and again with the knife, tearing it across my face. I threw up my hand to protect my face, felt the knife tear into my arm, my shoulder. A deeper pain blossomed in my back as the knife bit beneath my shoulder blade. 

  
  


A high whistle sounded from the steps. The pressure on my hair released suddenly. I whipped my head around toward the sound; Legolas whistled again, a shrill sound I had often used myself. I heard Azak shriek behind me. There was a great clatter of hooves; I lunged out of the way as Hellebore charged the man, teeth snapping toward his face, hooves raking the air. She drove him, step by step, away from me. He bolted, finally, and hurtled through the outer gate. 

  
  


I huddled on the ground, cradling my bleeding arm. The blood flowed fast and red, pooling on the ground beneath my hand. Another puddle formed as blood dripped from my chin. Hellebore nudged me, whickering her concern. I shook all over, icy waves washing over me. I couldn't feel my right hand, other than the stream of blood dripping from it. I gasped for air, choking on thick liquid. I coughed; bright blood splashed onto the cobblestones.

  
  


I was barely aware that Hellebore stood over me, snapping at the dim forms that gathered around me. Someone whistled and she moved away reluctantly. Hands clutched at me, drawing my arm away from my body. Deprived of its support, I collapsed onto the dry grass by the road. I was drowning, unable to draw enough air. Their voices swept through my head like distant echoes.

  
  


Bleeding heavily....can't stop....away from here....fetch the Healers....carry....Gimli, keep him away....don't let him see....

  
  


I swooned against someone's chest as I was carried away from the great hall.

  
  


~***~

  
  


I awoke to voices, murmuring over me.

  
  


"How badly was she injured?" Gimli, his harsh voice tense and furious.

  
  


"Quite badly. We have mended her lung, but she will be weak for a while yet. She was never strong, and the healing will be hard for her." Yalië's softer voice, beside me. "Where is Legolas?"

  
  


"He is in the other tent with the Warriors. They will keep him out until we say." I felt the bed sink as Gimli lowered himself onto it. "Open your eyes, lady. I know you wake and listen."

  
  


I peeled my eyes open, forced my vision to focus on his eyes. His face was tired, compassionate. Yalië leaned over his shoulder, touching my face gently. I raised one hand to my face; Gimli grabbed my wrist.

  
  


I turned dizzy eyes to him. "What happened to me?"

  
  


The Dwarf winced slightly. "You were attacked, Mornië. By Azak. You were gravely injured and have slept these two days away."

  
  


I turned my face from him, cold and frightened by the look on his face. "I would like a mirror, please."

  
  


He shook his head slowly, but Yalië handed me a small silver hand mirror. I chilled all over as I studied my reflection.

  
  


Long, angry red cuts ran the length of my face from temple to jaw. One line bisected the side of my face, a neat line curving from cheekbone to the corner of my mouth. I could see that the wounds would twist as they healed, probably pulling my mouth into a slight, lopsided smile. I laid the mirror carefully in Yalië's palm.

  
  


"It is good, I suppose, that I was no great beauty before. That would make the loss unbearable." I closed my eyes, suddenly weary. I heard Yalië rustle out of the tent. Gimli leaned close to my face.

  
  


"Is there anything I can do for you?" I opened my eyes and smiled painfully.

  
  


"Would you allow Legolas to visit? I would talk with him; perhaps he can distract my mind from my inadequacies." He flinched visibly.

  
  


"Are you sure, lady?" I fixed him with an icy stare. "Very well. Before I find him, Mornië, you must know that he has been nearly frantic with worry these last two days. He would not have you know that, but he has barely left the space outside your door. We had to restrain him to keep him from following Azak and killing him." He paused, considering his next words.

  
  


"He cares for you. But he is still an Elf, and Elves do mourn the loss of beauty unlike other beings. He will not mean to hurt you, but he may grieve for the damage you have suffered beyond what you may expect. Please do not hold him at fault for his reaction." He turned and rumbled out the door.

  
  


I closed my eyes, intending only to rest from the bright candlelight. I drowsed, though, slipping into dreams as easily as water. I was on the ground again, a bright knife at my throat, while all around me male voices taunted and laughed. I felt the blade slide across my throat, the blood gushing in a hot torrent across my breast. I shrieked, clawing my way out of the dream into a pair of strong arms.

  
  


Legolas murmured into my ear, whispering soothing words, stroking my hair. "Shh. Hush, you are in no danger here. You are safe." I pulled out of his arms and turned my face away from his piercing eyes. I knew, in the pit of my mind, that Gimli was right. I had harbored foolish fantasies; now I could not bear to see him turn from me in disgust.

  
  


His face clouded; he grasped my chin firmly in one hand. "Why do you hide your face from me?"

  
  


I tried to pull away. "Please. Do not. I would not have you see me thus." I pushed his hands away, burying my face in the blankets. He stroked my hair again, confused and hurt by my rejection.

  
  


"I do not understand. Gimli told me you asked me to come. Why will you not now look at me?"

  
  


I hid my face against the pillows. "I cannot. I cannot look at you, ugly as I am now. I would surely offend your eyes, my lord."

  
  


I was not prepared for his reaction; he hauled me up out of the blankets by my upper arms, forcing me to sit upright before him. He clasped one arm around my waist and used the other to force my head to the side. I heard his breath catch in his throat. He gently released my face, slipping his fingers into my hair instead. I slid my eyes sideways, watching him from beneath my lashes. He studied my face, shock and sorrow growing in his fine features.

  
  


I felt a deep blush spreading up through my cheeks. His gaze was like a pressure against my head, squeezing the air out of my lungs. I hated the pity I saw in his eyes, hated even more the tears that rolled uncontrollably down my face. He touched my damaged skin delicately, examining every inch.

  
  


He brushed strands of my hair away from my ear, his brows knitted together. He touched my ear lightly, tracing the outer rim to the delicate point at the upper tip. He looked at me again, smiling slightly. 

  
  


"Do your people have Elven blood?" He stroked my ear, trying to joke with me.

  
  


I smiled slightly. "You could say that." He chuckled at the ridiculous interchange.

  
  


He laid his palm flat against my undamaged cheek, cradling it in his hand. He pressed lightly, turning my head to face him. His chilly blue eyes studied my eyes; his face softened as he stroked my lower lip with his thumb. He lowered his bright head and pressed his lips to my ravaged cheek.

  
  


My breath hitched painfully. "Please. Stop." He pulled away from me, his eyes dark. "Don't pity me or mourn for me- I don't need it. I was not beautiful before, Legolas. My face is no great loss to the world." 

  
  


He shook his head angrily. "Had I known he had a blade, I would have killed him ere he touched you. I should have killed him. I should have allowed Hellebore to trample him into the stones." He pressed his lips against my temple, rocking me gently. "Mornië. You were beautiful before and you are still." He lowered his head again, catching my lips with his own. I sank into the kiss, savoring the cool pressure of his lips and hands on me. His hair swept lightly against my hot face.

  
  


He sighed, a mere breath of words across my lips. "Beloved." His lips pressed to mine again. For long moments, the world around me seemed to stand still and silent. Then I shifted, my weight leaned onto my right arm, and I yelped with pain.

  
  


He jerked away from me, instantly releasing his grip on my waist. He was on his feet in a single, fluid motion, backing away from the bedroll. I struggled off my arm.

  
  


"Legolas. I am not hurt. You do not have to stand away from me. I merely placed my weight in the wrong place." I was smiling, but sobered when I saw his face. His brows were knit together, his face shocked and confused, his eyes darting across my face. I reached out to touch his sleeve, and he backed away from me again. He turned sharply and strode out of the tent, letting the door flap fall behind him.

  
  


I waited for him to return. I could not understand what had happened, why he had suddenly changed as he had. I gazed out the open window flap at the rolling hills, scrub grass silvery in the moonlight. I heard the flap turn back. I half turned; the pain in my arm made me think better of the movement.

  
  


"Legolas? Is that you?"

  
  


Gimli's voice rolled across the room. "No." He seated himself on the edge of the bed. "He went to see to the horses. The caravans are coming in tomorrow afternoon; the merchant says that there are Easterling men marching with the caravans. We leave in the morning." He studied me shrewdly. "Will you be fit to travel?"

  
  


"I do not see that there is a choice. I have no wish to die here."

  
  


He nodded. He shifted slightly; I thought he looked uncomfortable. I licked my dry lips.

  
  


"What troubles you, master Dwarf?"

  
  


"I do not wish to pry, lady."

  
  


I sighed impatiently, adjusting my position in the bed. "Well, while you are not prying, would you be so kind as to help me out of this bed? If I am to ride on the morrow I must try to regain my feet tonight." He rose and offered me a massive arm. I levered myself out of the bedroll, placing my feet carefully on the floor. He fetched my outer robe from the pile by the tent flap, helped me into it, and took my arm. I insisted on walking out into the encampment; though he resisted, I wheedled until he gave in.

  
  


We walked in silence for a while before he spoke.

  
  


"I assume that your visit with Legolas was not entirely satisfactory?" His voice was low, pitched so that the Walkers hurrying between the tents would not overhear.

  
  


"I do not know what happened, Gimli. It was fine, he was..kind...then he seemed to change, to become wary of me. Almost frightened. Then he left." 

  
  


Gimli halted by one of the horses, his face thrown into patterns of light and dark by the cold moonlight. "Did you argue, Mornië? What was said?"

  
  


I blushed, a slow heat rising into my cheeks. "We did not argue. I was upset, he tried to comfort me. He kissed me. Then he left. He seemed...appalled." My voice trailed away.

  
  


Gimli touched my arm. His eyes were dark, unreadable. "I am sure that he was. Elves do not care lightly, my lady, nor do they generally come to care so quickly as he has for you. I do not believe that he intended to approach you in such a way. He would not wish to offend you."

  
  


I stared back at him. "The kiss did not offend me, Gimli. His leaving did."

  
  


His mouth twisted, in irritation or amusement I could not tell. "You must try to understand, lady. He is a warrior, an Elf, and a Prince. It is likely that his affections are not his own to give, or that he is reluctant to give them to a different type of Elf, especially an Avari."

  
  


I watched him walk away, puzzled. Why was Legolas worried of my race? I shook my head, trying to recall all our conversations. I wandered back to the tent, lost in thought.

  
  


~***~

  
  


All through the night, the encampment swarmed with people preparing for the ride to Deep Forest. The Walkers were tense, their faces grim, knowing that the morning would be a flight from Azak's kin and friends. I also prepared, packing my saddlebags, oiling Rage, making minor repairs to my gear and robes. I walked as much as I could, trying to regain my strength and balance. Gimli tried to persuade me to sit more, but I shooed him away to tend to his own plans.

  
  


I sat by the fire, long after midnight, working warm wax into my sorely neglected boots. A shadow fell over my work; I turned to see Gimli standing over my shoulder. I smiled briefly.

  
  


"You should sleep. Tomorrow will be a hard day." His voice was harsh and stony. He sat down in a chair facing me and dug a whetstone out of his pocket. "You will be no use to us if you cannot sit your horse."

  
  


"Do not fret for me, Master Gimli. Hellebore would carry me even if I were dead." I worked a little longer. "Have you seen Legolas?" I tried to make my voice calm and even.

  
  


He narrowed his eyes at me. "I have. He is also still awake and fretting over useless tasks. You have set his mind askew, girl. He cannot think of important matters. I fear he will fail when we need him most."

  
  


"I doubt that." I glanced at him sharply. "Perhaps you should go find him, Gimli, and convince him to rest. I do not need your commentary this night." I ignored him until he left.

  
  


~***~

  
  


I slept a little, towards dawn. I was up before the sun rose, dressed and wandering around our tent. I rushed out of the tent finally in utter frustration. I strode through the encampment; rounding a corner, I collided with a slim figure. I cursed violently in several languages as my injured arm slapped against the ground. I leaped back onto my feet, fully expecting to see Legolas sprawled on the floor. Instead, it was one of the Warriors, Sára, the one whose horse had been lamed. I extended my left hand to her.

  
  


"Please forgive me. I am careless this morning." She laughed, a clear ringing sound that was somehow comforting. 

  
  


"You ever were careless before breakfast, Mornië. Always rushing about in a fog, falling over your own feet, swearing like a barbarian." She dusted her black robes, wiping a smudge of dirt off her hand. We walked for a while, discussing our travel plans for the whole day. At last she turned to me, a mischievous smile on her face.

  
  


"Rumor has it, sister, that you have been keeping company with that handsome Elf."

  
  


"Rumor? Rumor from whom?" My stomach twisted at the thought of people talking about me, speculating about my doings.

  
  


"Oh, just talk. You know how Walkers are. If it's a secret, everyone knows." She nudged me with her shoulder. "So? Is it true?"

  
  


I smiled slightly, almost against my will. She laughed, clasping my good arm.

  
  


"It is true! What is he like?" 

  
  


I chuckled to myself. Sára was always so sober, so serious, but her solemnity covered a sweet disposition and tendency to gossip. She seemed starved for talk. I patted her hand.

  
  


"It would be...exaggeration...to say that we have been keeping company. We talk often. He has tried to teach me to shoot- I am miserable at it. He is intelligent, and learned, and curious. I enjoy talking with him. I am fond of him, but we share a friendship, no more." Even as I said it, my heart felt twisted with the evasion. Did I want more than a simple friendship?

  
  


She must have sensed my thoughts somehow. She nudged me again, her face serious. "But you love him, don't you. Does he know?"

  
  


"I don't know. I thought that perhaps he did, but I think I was mistaken." She was silent then, pondering my words. At the end of the encampment, she released my arm, murmuring about more packing to be done.

  
  


~***~


	9. Chapter Nine

We emptied the camp by noon of that day. Because Sára's horse was still lame, we were forced to move much more slowly than we had hoped. I sought out Sára again; she was walking with Ango and Gimli. She swung up into her saddle and coaxed her mare over to me. We chatted for a long while, idle gossip about events and people long past. I noticed she often glanced toward Ango, her eyes seeking him out again and again.

  
  


I teased her the next morning, when he left us to plot with Gimli and Legolas. "You follow him with your eyes, sister. Do I detect a slight interest, or is my face not appealing to you?"

  
  


She turned wide blue eyes to me. "No, I do not seek to avoid your face. And I have nothing other than curiosity about Ango--you know Warrior dedication." She glanced around. Leaning over her mare's neck, she muttered to me. "But I do mark that your Elven friend watches you. Will you not go speak with him?"

  
  


I shook my head. "No. I cannot. We parted poorly, when last we spoke. It is still awkward. I would not wish to discomfit him."

  
  


She snorted indelicately. "I think you should discomfit him. I heard what happened."

  
  


I snorted also. "More gossip? Have you people nothing better to do than speculate about my life? Perhaps I should spend less time worrying that our new companions are alone and more time keeping my eye on the Walkers."

  
  


"No. We do not have anything better to discuss, not at the moment. And it wasn't gossip. I overheard him talking to the Dwarf earlier." She grinned in triumph as my mouth fell open. I wrenched Hellebore out of the line, dragging Sára's horse by the reins. We waited until the others passed us.

  
  


"What did he say, sister? Please. Do not tease me on this." My voice trembled audibly.

  
  


She studied my face, carefully choosing her words. "He has doubts. He cares for you, but mentioned Aragorn's lady often- that she would be left alone when Aragon dies. He is unsure, he said, of your feelings for him. He is afraid that he offended you or that you will think he meant to take advantage." She paused, gazing along the line of people. "Sister, may I speak frankly?"

  
  


"When did you ever ask permission to speak your mind?"

  
  


"You must speak with him. You cannot continue to avoid one another. Niquë says that a battle is at hand- you must reconcile this before you lose the chance." She grabbed my arm hard enough to make me wince. "Do not wait until it is too late. I did, and I shall regret it forever."

  
  


I frowned; I knew that she was fond of one of the Warriors that fell at the outset, but I had not realized the extent of her affection. She had loved him, obviously, and he had died. I squeezed her hand and dug my heels into Hellebore's flanks.

  
  


I sought him out, walking with Gimli near the head of the line. Gimli turned at my approach and eyed me grumpily. I reined Hellebore to their pace. Legolas turned away from me, fussing with his horse's gear.

  
  


"Good morning, Master Gimli. Might I speak with you a moment, my lord Prince?" I pitched my voice over the noise of the train yet not so loud that we could be easily overheard. He did not respond. I glanced at Gimli, frustrated, and guided Hellebore out of the line again. The Dwarf scowled and strode to Legolas's side. They argued briefly, Legolas shaking his head while Gimli pointed at me. Finally, Legolas shrugged and mounted, every line of his body stiff. He urged the his horse over to me and stared at me, his face impassive.

  
  


I pushed Hellebore back into a slow walk. His mount matched the pace, bringing Legolas even with me. We rode a while in silence as I tried to gather my thoughts.

  
  


He spoke first, his voice formal and tight with an unidentifiable emotion. "You requested my attention, lady. I am here. What is it you wish of me?"

  
  


My throat closed at the chilly tones of his voice. I gripped the reins tightly, wincing as my injured arm protested. I cleared my throat, willing myself to be calm. 

  
  


"We cannot continue to avoid one another, my lord. If war is brewing, as the Warriors say, we must not allow our own differences to jeopardize the safety of all."

  
  


"I was not aware that we were avoiding one another." He stared straight ahead.

  
  


My mouth fell open. "You cannot mean to tell me that you deny avoiding me. You will not speak with me, you will not remain near me- you cannot look at me even now. Why? How have I offended you, Highness, that you cannot bear to look upon me?" He remained silent. I gritted my teeth. "Does my face offend you, or my skin? Is it my race, or my injury? Can you not bring yourself to look at me, now that I am so hideous? Am I so ugly to you now? Tell me- I would know so that I may spare you further disgust or embarrassment."

  
  


He whirled on me, his face a mask of anger. "It has nothing to do with your face, Mornië."

  
  


My breath came fast and hard. "I do not believe you. You called me beloved once. Now you cannot stand the sight of me. I cannot change what I am or what has happened to me. If my face offends you, pray tell me. Perhaps there is still time for me to leave the company when we reach the Forests. Or now, before all are needed." I kneed Hellebore harder than necessary, jerking her head around.

  
  


His hand lashed out, seizing the reins. He dug his heels into his own mount, dragging Hellebore further away from the line. He grabbed my arm with his other hand, his fingers viselike around my wrist.

  
  


"You will not. Do not threaten what you are not prepared to do."

  
  


I slapped his hand away from me, feeling the treacherous tinglings of Rage at my side. "Do not assume that I will not go. Why should I stay? I am less than useless here, that is entirely clear to me. I cannot wield a sword other than Rage. Why should I stay-- to watch you learn to hate me, and never know why?"

  
  


His brilliant eyes narrowed. "You will not leave. I do not hate you."

  
  


"Then why will you not speak with me? I thought we had a friendship."

  
  


He pounded his leg in frustration, the knuckles of his fist white. "Do you not understand? Can you not see? It is not your friendship that I want. I want you. And there is no hope in that."

  
  


I stiffened, stunned to the core by his words. My mind raced. "You are correct. I do not understand. Why is there no hope?" I heard the steel creeping back into my voice and I tried to will away my anger and confusion.

  
  


He turned away, his hair falling between us. "Because you are Avari. You cannot go to the Undying Realm, and when I do I will be alone forever. I cannot face all the years of my life, grieving for you, or die of a broken heart. And I cannot choose, as Arwen has, to forsake all for love." He turned his eyes to me. They were black with pain. "I love you already, but I cannot face an eternity of sorrow."

  
  


I stared at him, open-mouthed. The breath exploded out of me in great whooping laughter. I doubled over, tears squeezing out of my eyes. I laughed until I was breathless. He sat on his horse, a statue of marble, growing more and more angry.

  
  


"I am pleased that you find my distress amusing, lady, but truly I do not see what is so funny. I am quite serious."

  
  


I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "Oh, Elf, you do amaze me. You never asked, not once, so I assumed you knew."

  
  


He shifted, irritated. "Knew what? Never asked what? What are you talking about?"

  
  


I laughed again, gently this time. "You never once asked what Galadriel said to me." I leaned back in the saddle, chuckling, teetering on the edge of nervous hysteria.

  
  


"Will you kindly explain yourself?"

  
  


"She has guaranteed me passage on the White Ships. I will be the first of my kind to travel to the Undying Realms, if I wish. If I have reason." 

  
  


I burst out laughing again at the look on his face. "Come. Let us return to the line. People will talk, and I, for one, am tired of being the center of gossip for bored Walkers." I left him still staring in shock.

  
  


Sára spurred her horse to meet me. "What happened?"

  
  


I scowled at her in mock anger. "You mean you did not hear? I was sure the entire company waited with bated breath for the next week's conversation topic."

  
  


She giggled. "We would have, but we cannot stop so long. Tell me, sister. Do not make me beg."

  
  


I smiled broadly. "Let me say this- the conversation contained many revelations, the least of which was his feelings. I fear, however, that my own revelation may be the death of him."

  
  


She was puzzled. "I do not follow you, sister."

  
  


I faced her, chuckling to myself. "I did not know that he did not know." She was still bewildered. "That Galadriel has gifted me with a passage."

  
  


She gasped. "You mean...you will be able to..and he didn't know. Oh, sister...I'm so glad you went to speak to him. Now that he knows-" She broke off, eyes wide, interrupted by pounding hooves. 

  
  


My arm was seized roughly from behind; I was yanked around in my saddle. Before I could react, Legolas kissed me, deep and hard and fierce, his lips hungry on mine. His hands dug into my hair, twining in the length of it. He broke the kiss, whispering into my ear, Elvish mixed up with the common tongue, a flood of wild emotion. He lifted me out of my saddle and into his lap, his lips on mine again. He buried his face in my hair and we clung together.

  
  


I was dragged back to the present by a loud, insistent throat-clearing behind me. Legolas raised his head, smiled sheepishly and ducked his head again; I peered over my shoulder to see Gimli and Sára standing together, grinning broadly. I flushed deeply as the crowd of Walkers around us broke into whistles and applause. I buried my face in his shoulder, but he raised my chin and laughed into my mortified face.

  
  


"My beloved. Pay them no mind." He kissed me, a final gentle touch of the lips, and lowered me to the ground. He wheeled and trotted toward the front of the line, pausing first to hoist Gimli into the saddle behind him. Sára and I stared at each other, grinning like fools.

  
  


~***~


	10. Chapter Ten

We traveled without stopping the remaining miles to the Deep Forest. The sky darkened ominously, the thick layer of grey-blue clouds quickly turning bruise-black. I scanned the skies, praying that the weather would hold until we reached the forest. Thunder rolled above us and the clouds flared with lightning. A wild whoop broke from the mouths of the Warriors as the dark smear of treeline first appeared on the horizon before us. The horses seemed infected by the excitement, increasing the pace until we were galloping across the low rolling hills at a dead run. Legolas and Gimli drew even with me at one point; the Elf shouted over the din of hoofbeats.

  
  


"How far? Arod cannot hold this pace indefinitely." 

  
  


I shouted to the other Walkers to continue on. I yanked Hellebore to a stop as Legolas wheeled Arod back to me. I eyed his horse, already sweating heavily. I did not doubt that the speed was taking a toll on the beast, possibly because he was doubly loaded.

  
  


"Would it help him if his load was lighter?" I swung out of my saddle and motioned Gimli down from the horse. "Hellebore can carry two more easily than Arod. I will take Gimli with me, and we will try to lessen the pace. I am familiar with the route. We will have no trouble making the last leg without the others." 

  
  


Legolas nodded and dismounted to help Gimli onto my horse. I mounted first, extending my hand to Gimli to lift him behind me. He gripped my waist, muttering darkly about the increased height. I chuckled at him. When Legolas was remounted, I dug my heels into Hellebore's flanks until she fell into her traveling pace, less swift but still efficient, and one that Arod could match with little effort.

  
  


We broke through the treeline some two hours later. The Walkers were resting in a small clearing less than a quarter mile beyond the first edge of the forest. They leaped to their feet as we approached, drawing their weapons. I tossed my hood back, needlessly; once they saw the fair Elf on the white horse, they knew us. Sára and Ango rushed forward to help us dismount. Sára's face was hard as stone, her eyes roving beyond my face to the deeper shadows. She gripped my arm as I lowered myself from the horse.

  
  


"Mornië, we have already seen a band of Easterling Hunters. We cannot stay here, so near the edge of the Forest. We must keep riding."

  
  


"How far to the Twilight Keep?"

  
  


She calculated swiftly, studying the trees around us for subtle markers left by other Warriors. "Five hours to the causeway. Less, if the Elf's mount can keep up."

  
  


I pressed my lips together, then turned to Legolas. "Can Arod continue the pace?"

  
  


He shook his head, his eyes grave. "I do not think that he can. Perhaps if he had no rider, but he does not know the way and I am loath to leave him in a strange place." He stroked the animal's neck, a comforting gesture between longtime friends. I thought deeply, my mind racing through possibilities.

  
  


Tuilë, the Healer, interrupted my thoughts. "Why do we not double load our own mounts and lead Legolas's horse? Our horses are more suited to the heavier loads and the strange terrain; they will be able to keep a fast pace even with extra riders." 

  
  


I grinned, relieved, and clapped her on the back. "Brilliant, sister. You take the Dwarf, for you are lighter than the rest and your horse is the most fresh. I will take Legolas. Hellebore is accustomed to him and he is competent enough to stay on her even with my riding as reckless as it is."

  
  


Once remounted, Legolas spoke into my ear. 

  
  


"What is this Twilight Keep you spoke of?"

  
  


"Our home. Twilight Keep is where the Shadowwalkers live. It is the only stone structure in the Deep Forest, though it is, in actuality, on an island in the Sea of Rhûn. It is heavily guarded both by blade and by magic, and it has stood for many lives of men. If there are Hunters in the woods, our people will not stay in their settlements. They will make for the Keep and whatever safety our order can offer."

  
  


"What are Hunters?" He had to raise his voice over the rush of wind in the trees, a sudden chilly gust that confirmed a storm later that day. I shivered and gathered my robes about me.

  
  


"Easterling marauders. They deal in Elf-trade. Slavery. Where they go, the armies of Rhûn are not far behind." I eyed the rapidly blackening sky through the thick conifer canopy above us. "We need to get out of the weather also. I do not like the look of the sky."

  
  


We surged through the woods, following the ancient, almost imperceptible trails our people had worn into the forest. The Warriors took the lead, for their eyes were more keen than anyone else's. As we rode, I talked to Legolas as much as possible about the forest and its ways. I knew the woods would be strange to his eyes; I had seen the lush green forests of his country, and our Forest was nothing like them. There were no leafy, slender birch or ash or willow here to soften the harsh landscape. The Deep Forest was primarily evergreen, hundreds of species of conifers with a light sprinkling of oak and thorn already bare for the approaching winter. The wind in the trees was a dull roar, not the hushed whispers he would recognize, and the ground underfoot was muffled with a thick layer of fallen needles that killed any other plant life.

  
  


I felt him craning his neck to see around him, absorbing as much of the foreign surroundings as he could. He tapped me on the shoulder.

  
  


"It is like the halls at Minas Tirith or of Khaza-dhûm. The trees are like pillars holding up the ceiling of the forest while we scuttle around on the floor." His voice was awed and, I thought, a little frightened. I squeezed his leg where it lay near mine.

  
  


"Eloquently phrased. Do remember that-our Bards would very much like to borrow that bit of poetry, I think."

  
  


The day wore on, the wind rising to a deafening howl around us. We stopped briefly to dig warmer garments out of our bags. Ango tossed a spare cloak to Legolas, one that had belonged to one of our fallen companions. Legolas refused it at first, arguing that no Western Elf needed such garments; I conceded that point but retorted that any garment that kept one dry ought be welcome. When I finally told Legolas about the previous owner, his face grew still and solemn. I noticed that he touched the cloak like a sacred relic, obviously honoring our friend's sacrifice.

  
  


The first rain fell as we rounded the edge of the Sea of Rhûn, the great inland sea lying iron-dark under the leaden sky. The rain quickly turned to sleet, freezing as it struck ground and travelers alike. The rocky shores of the sea turned dangerously slippery, coated in inches of ice. We reached the causeway miraculously intact.

  
  


Twilight Keep lay before us at the end of the long stone causeway, a great heap of granite hewn out of the sea by our distant ancestors, a last defense against the elements and the Men of Darkness. We picked our way along the causeway, buffeted by frosty wind and soaked by waves that rolled up over the waist-high walls. I shortened my grip on the reins as Hellebore shied from the edge. I felt Legolas's arms tighten around my waist. I glanced over my shoulder; his eyes were wide and icy in the dimming light, his lips set in a grim line. I urged the horse onward again.

  
  


The gates of Twilight Keep were closed for the night. Serko roared up at the watchroom, hailing the Warriors on duty. I saw a hooded face peering through the driving sleet; the watchman waved at us. The gates labored open. We clattered into the Keep, dismounting just inside the retaining walls and handing the horses over to several young stableboys. I grasped Legolas's elbow and ushered our company into the Hall.

  
  


We stripped off our soaking cloaks at the door, piling the sodden fabric into a leaking pile by the doors to the kitchens. Shivering violently, I strode over to the massive fireplace, wringing my hair out onto the rush-covered floors. The others gathered around me by the fire, shaking out robes and hair and drawing weapons from scabbards to dry in the heat. Gimli rubbed his hands together and fluffed his beard out as it dried.

  
  


"Welcome home, my prodigal ones. And welcome to the guests of Twilight Keep." I turned to see my old Teacher striding toward us, arms outstretched in greeting. All the Walkers bowed respectfully, acknowledging his status in our Order. Legolas went down on one knee, bowing his head as before a king. The Protector of the Keep chuckled affectionately and helped him to rise again.

  
  


"That is not necessary here, young sir. I do not rule this land; I am merely a Teacher of ancient lore. My name is Tur Varyar. Rise, and be at ease among us." He moved amongst us, speaking quietly to each person, a few brief words to bolster the spirit. His dark eyes roved over each face, reading the sorrows and hardship of the journey. When his eyes turned to mine, I saw a familiar flash of anger; his jaw set even as he took my hands in greeting. As soon as the others were comfortably dry, he begged their leave to excuse myself and the two men of the West. He lead us out of the Hall to a narrow staircase hewn into one wall. His study, a room I knew well from my days as a student and close association with him, lay at the top; I was reminded of Aragorn's study at Minas Tirith. He gestured us to sit in large, comfortable chairs as he poured glasses of wine for each of us.

  
  


I sipped at the glass; I recognized the mellow sweetness of our own ice-wine, distilled in snowbanks throughout the long winters. Gimli sipped cautiously at the strange liquid before swallowing thirstily. Legolas's eyes closed in pleasure as he drank deeply; he smiled at me over the rim of the glass goblet before turning his attention to Varyar's words.

  
  


"We have had word that there are Hunters abroad in the Deep Forest." Varyar's eyes were deeply troubled, his dusky face grave.

  
  


I nodded. "Aye, our Warriors saw a band today at the edges of the woods. What news of the Easterling armies?"

  
  


"They have been massing on the Plains, attacking any of our people that dare to travel. The Plainsfolk are cut off from sanctuary here, and I fear they may not survive even now. The Great Council is here already, and the other Clans of the Forest have moved into the Keep. There is much planning to be done, and your services will be required over the next few days." He stared into the fire for several moments. He turned to Legolas.

  
  


"We have received a message from your kin in Mirkwood. They have heard of our troubles from the Lady of Lórien and are considering an alliance with us." Legolas smiled slightly, relieved, I knew, by the news.

  
  


"Master, how close are we to war?"

  
  


He met my eyes. "Closer than we thought. The Easterling have chosen a king, and his eye is fixed on this keep. My messengers tell me there is a host of perhaps two hundred mounted men moving toward this place from the West. We must be ever vigilant now." We sat in silence until Varyar asked us to excuse him; we slipped out the study door and left him to his work. I left Legolas at his chambers, already prepared and warmed for the long night, and returned to my own familiar rooms at the opposite end of the hall.

  
  


~***~


	11. Chapter Eleven

My rooms were untouched, left exactly as they had been the day we departed. I wandered around the room, straightening objects disordered by my hasty departure; I gathered up discarded garments and piled them by the door for washing and emptied the saddlebags that had been left hanging on the back of a chair. I carried a pile of books and parchments to the tiny study and shelved them, dusting the spines as I went. I looked around the small, cozy space furnished with shabbily comfortable furniture and a few keepsakes from my childhood. The rooms were quickly tidied, and I was still restless.

  
  


I roamed out of my rooms toward the Haven Hall, a large dormitory-style space set aside for those seeking shelter in our Keep. I levered open the heavy door and stood, aghast at the numbers of people crowded into the huge room. I counted a hundred, perhaps more, adults and quite a few children. That would be nearly the full population of the Deep Forest, including the Clans of the farthest depths of the woods, those people who lived whole lifetimes never seeing any Avari other than their own kin. The situation was more grave than I thought, if even the wildest parts of the Forest had emptied.

  
  


I backed out of the room and headed toward the Warrior's wing. The Warriors were at dinner, the feast room also crowded to the rafters, it seemed. Sára saw me standing at the door and left her meal to speak with me. 

  
  


"You have seen the Haven, sister?"

  
  


I nodded. "I had not thought that so many would come. Why are there not more Warriors, Sára? With so many folk, there should be many more fighters."

  
  


Her face turned to stone. "We will have to ask for volunteers from among the Forest peoples. I fear we will see children and Elders in combat before this war is ended."

  
  


I clasped her arm in mine. "Let us hope it does not come to that, my sister. I will not keep you from your meal any longer." She clapped me on the back and went back to her table as I strode from the room.

  
  


~***~

  
  


Back in my own rooms, I leaned towards the fire, rubbing my still-painful arm as I tried to push down my concerns. Varyar had been too calm, given that brief flash of displeasure. From long experience I knew that he would not express his anger before guests, but I knew I could not hope to avoid a confrontation for long. Nervously, I dug around in my pocket, found a small whetstone in its leather pouch. I slid Rage out of the scabbard and slowly drew the stone along the length of the shining steel. She was already razor-sharp, so I slipped the stone back into the pouch. I studied the Blade, turning it over and over in the firelight. I spoke out loud to myself, a habit of many years, useful when I needed to work out some particularly difficult problem.

  
  


"A hundred plus half again of women, children, and untrained men. Less than a hundred Warriors, Chosen and not...say another forty from among the refugees. Thirty Mages, ten Healers, a few others with minor abilities. Perhaps two hundred combatants total. We do not have enough to hold the Keep unless we destroy the causeway." I gestured as if talking to another person. "That is a terrible idea. How would reinforcements come? If any come, that is..."

  
  


I heard a soft step behind me. A cool hand rested on my shoulder, gently kneading the muscles of 

my aching arm. A shimmering curtain of golden hair fell over my shoulder. I smiled, leaning into the pressure on my arm like Hellebore often did to me. He chuckled softly, pausing to stroke my cheek. He lowered himself into the other chair, stretching his long legs out and sighing deeply. 

  
  


"I am so very tired," he murmured faintly. I poured a cup of hot tea and handed it to him, letting my fingers rest on his for a moment as he took the mug from me.

  
  


"Tired? I thought Western Elves never fatigued." The dark circles under his eyes concerned me. His face crinkled, exhaustion dropping onto his features. He waited long minutes before he answered.

  
  


"Everyone is tired. Worse, they are all frightened. This battle will not go well, particularly if your calculations just now were correct." He narrowed his eyes at me, considering. "Will you stand with us?"

  
  


I pressed my lips together. "Of course. My Talent might be of some use. The Mages always stand at Twilight. Perhaps thirty will make an effective Mage line." Even as I spoke the words, I knew that they were false; we could not hope to hold the Keep with so few. At best, we could postpone an invasion long enough to send the children away...

  
  


"Will you be able to last the battle?" His face was concerned; I knew it was not entirely for me.

  
  


"I believe I will. My arm improves daily, and I do not need that arm to fight. I can always remove myself from the battle if I need to, or if I tire too much to be of use."

  
  


"But Rage. Will she not force you to continue, even if you wish to cease?"

  
  


I smiled then. "Not if I cast a sleep spell on myself."

  
  


He nodded, his eyes still troubled. He stared into the fire for a long time. I watched him sit.

  
  


"Legolas. What troubles you? Surely you are not so concerned for my well-being."

  
  


He smiled briefly. He shook his head, his fists tensing on the arms of the chair. "Other than the Shadowwalkers, these people are not warriors. They cannot hope to defend this place against an army of any significant size. They will die, and there is nothing we can do to prevent that. Aren't there others on whom we might call for aid? Perhaps they can arrive in time, if we send for them now."

  
  


I shook my head. "That is what I meant, at the Argonaths, when I told you that you did not understand. This is all there is, Legolas. All our people, save a very few, are here."

  
  


His face was incredulous, shocked by the realization that there were fewer than five hundred Avari in all of Rhûn. He raked his slender fingers through his hair in frustration. When he spoke, his voice was bleak with despair.

  
  


"It is hopeless, Mornië. We cannot win this."

  
  


"We must try, Legolas. Perhaps your people will send reinforcements."

  
  


He pounded the arm of the chair. "We should not have come to this place! It is Helm's Deep all over again, with no hope of either Rohirrim riders or Gandalf to aid us."

  
  


I knelt before his chair, gripping his knees. His teeth were gritted, his face stony. "Legolas. You cannot change that now. You are here, whether your coming was wise or not, and you cannot leave us. We need you." I touched his face. "I need you."

  
  


He captured my fingers in his, pressing my hand against his face. His eyes were weary and so very sad. "Why do you stay? Why not return to my land, my people, with me, and leave the affairs of this world behind?"

  
  


I stared at him, aghast. "Legolas, these are my people. Even if they were not, I could not leave. Your people do not live in a different world. This danger is not only to my country. If the Easterlings conquer Rhûn, they will not stop until they conquer the whole world. This new king will lead his armies across the desert and there will be no one in my land that can stand against him. If he raises another Necromancer, he will be unstoppable. Their numbers are already immense; they wait only for his command to march. We must stand now, while there is still the possibility that he can be stopped."

  
  


He closed his eyes, shutting out my words. I allowed him to sit, suddenly concerned about him. I knew so little of Western Elves. How much did they take others' worries upon themselves? Were they like our mindhealers, who absorbed all of a patient's pain into their own minds and were often irreparably damaged in the process? I stroked his cheek with my thumb. He opened his eyes slowly, gazing at me through his lashes.

  
  


"Tell me about your home. It would comfort me to hear of forests."

  
  


I tugged his hand gently. "If I'm going to entertain you, come down here with me so that I am comfortable." He slid off the chair onto the floor, boneless as a cat. I settled my legs around him and draped my arms around his shoulders. He leaned into me, tucking his head under my chin. I had a sudden memory of holding my young cousin Rain the same way. He aimlessly played with a strand of my hair.

  
  


"The Deep Forest is like Mirkwood, as you saw. There are things that wander the wilds of the forest that are like nothing on this earth. The trees there are ancient and so huge that you cannot see the tops from the ground. It is always silent and still, until the winds or rains come; then, the forest seems to breathe and talk."

  
  


He nodded against my chest. "Very much like Mirkwood."

  
  


I smiled into his hair. "Yes, it is. Our people live among the trees, though, not in the caves. We build shelters in the trees, out of branches and logs and whatever pretty things we find or make. Our settlement is pleasant and quiet, hot springs always plentiful, and the murmuring and swaying of the trees to rock you to sleep. You grew up in buildings, like Rivendell? The settlement is utterly different. I did not live in solid walls until I had fifty summers." I smiled as he did, sleepily. He reminded me again of a small boy settling in for a story.

  
  


"You would do well in our forests, Legolas. We would go skywalking, up in the top branches. You can see all the way to the Iron Hills from those trees. The sun falls on the leaves like liquid gold, and in the autumn, all the forest is afire, for miles and miles. My kinspeople are wonderful archers; you would have your fill of hunting and tracking."

  
  


"I would like to see your home, when this war is over." 

  
  


I hugged him, nestling my chin into the curve of his neck. "I will take you there. You will meet my family, our people. They would greet you like a lost friend."

  
  


He laughed, tightening his fingers in my hair. "I will hold you to that, lady."

  
  


The wooden door crashed open. Legolas leaped to his feet, drawing his twin white blades. I crouched on the floor, out of his path. A sodden figure half-strode, half-stumbled into my rooms. Legolas was the first to recognize him.

  
  


"Aragorn!"

  
  
  
  


~***~


	12. Chapter Twelve

Varyar's messengers had not been mistaken; a host of warriors did march toward Twilight Keep from the Western reaches, but they were a battalion of Rohirrim riders and Gondorian swordsmen led by the King of Gondor himself. The warriors poured into the Keep, crowding the already packed halls, an inconvenience we welcomed whole-heartedly. Aragorn reported that a great army, perhaps three thousand men and Orcs, had been sighted traveling along the opposite shore of the Sea of Rhûn. He expected them to arrive the next morning, if they marched through the night. Aragorn and his friends gathered together with our Warriors and the leaders of the Westron men; they met Varyar in the Great Hall to plot and plan.

  
  


I sat in a corner for hours, scribing down their every word, sketching maps and battle plans until my eyes refused to focus. Gimli caught me rubbing my eyes; he angled around the gathered warriors and pushed me toward the door. I paused long enough to recruit a passing library scribe to replace me in the conference, then I slipped out of the hall. Legolas saw me leaving, started to follow. I waved him away, signaling that I would be cautious. I wound my way through crowds of men arming themselves for the coming battle and hurried up a staircase to the battlements. I scanned the layout of the keep walls, choosing an effective, yet out-of-the-way position from which I could help and not be either a distraction or a target. I also searched the skies, wondering if the rain would cease, if the Elves had considered our alliance yet, and if they would be moved to aid.

  
  


I returned to my rooms and rummaged through the wardrobe. I stripped off my dusty outer robe, shivering in my thin undergown. I dug through the wardrobe, pulling out extra robes. At the back of the closet, my fingertips brushed the object of my search. I tugged the fabric free and shook out the deep blue robes. I rubbed the soft, sturdy fabric between my fingers, tracing the silver embroidery around the neck and sleeve openings.

  
  


The robes were a gift from my Clan, sent when I had become Twilight Chosen. They were not my dress robes- those were the shade of warm seawater and were still carefully packed in a drawer. These were indigo, the color of mourning, the robes of a fighter aware that her actions would cause great suffering. I laid the robes across my bed and burrowed into my bags again. I pulled out a leather pouch the size of my hand and emptied the contents onto the dressing table. I stared down at the bright crystals and metals and trinkets, tiny silver bells and feathers. 

  
  


I sat down at the vanity, studying my face in the mirror. I unpinned my hair, working out the single braid, combing through my hair until it fell in rippling waves past my shoulders. I swiftly braided it, this time in many small braids that caught the strands off my face. I fastened the trinkets to the braids, imitating the traditional fashion of my Clan. I stood briefly to slip the indigo robes over my head and sat back down to fasten the three dozen tiny silver buttons. The robes were also a traditional style, with close-fitting sleeves and skirts that would allow me to move comfortably. I stared into the mirror at my face transformed into a true Deep Forest Shadowwalker. My hair hung twisted with feathers and shining things all catching the light, wrapped with threads of deep blue and silver, braids intermingled with free-hanging red strands. I brushed a lock away from my face, hearing a tiny bell chime.

  
  


I slipped a pouch out of my travel bag and unrolled the small image of the Twilight Mother I carried with me always. She was the patron and protector of all warriors, even reluctant ones. I had seldom spoken to Her during my time the West, fearing the ridicule of foreigners who seemed to hold to no gods that I could determine. I hoped that my long neglect would not prejudice Her against our cause. I set the image on the dressing table and closed my eyes, murmuring to Her.

  
  


"Lady, I know that I have not been Your perfect servant. I have neglected You in action and in word these many months. I pray that You will be with me on this day, with these people, despite my foolishness."

  
  


"Do you think that I was not aware of your devotion to Me?" The voice chimed into the room as clear as an Elven song. I opened my eyes. She stood behind me, clad in the midnight garb of Her Chosen Warriors. Her silver eyes gleamed at me in the mirror. "Stand, My wayward child. I would not see My beloved ones submissive to any being."

  
  


I rose unsteadily. She smiled. "You have learned much in your travels, Child of the Forests, but you have also lost the faith of My children and your people. Where will you dwell, Mornië Shadowwalker, when this conflict has ended?"

  
  


I bowed my head. "I do not know, Lady. I have long wanted to return to my Clan and kin, but..."

  
  


She raised my chin with one hand, Her eyes shining like the moon. "But you have ties to another place and another people, and the promise of a different fate. And so you will ever be conflicted in all things but your duty to Me."

  
  


A sharp knock on the door interrupted. I heard Legolas call my name softly from the other side. I turned to the Mother, intending to ask him to leave. She shook Her dark head at me.

  
  


"Let him in, child. I would meet this man so dear to your heart."

  
  


I swung the wooden door open and drew him inside by his sleeve, slamming the door closed behind him. He was startled by my appearance so that he did not notice the Dark One at first. When his eyes fell on Her, he dropped to his knees instinctively. Her laughter rang out in the small room; I heard his breath coming fast and ragged. She strode to him and motioned him to rise.

  
  


"Do not bow before Me, Child of the Forest. Such conduct is not becoming a warrior."

  
  


He rose, his eyes seeking me out in shock. I smiled reassuringly and took his hand. The Maiden gazed at us for long moments; I could feel Her brushing through my mind. She laid a hand on his shoulder.

  
  


"Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. How like the Avari your people are, and yet how different." She raised his face to Her with gentle fingers. His eyes moved to Her face, utterly entranced. I smiled affectionately; I had had much the same reaction the first time I met Her, as a child.

  
  


"You have captured My child's heart, and thus have brought My gaze upon yourself. She is dedicated to Me and is beloved amongst My children though she has not bound herself by Oath and Blade and Blood. You are worthy of her, I believe. You have proven yourself worthy of My favor; perhaps there is yet an alliance to be had between Elves and Shadowwalkers. What say you, My wayward daughter? Should Western Elves join the ranks of the Bloodbonded?"

  
  


I laughed. "Please, Lady. Do not Bind this one. Your Shadow Warriors are formidable and legendary, but they lead a hard and lonely life."

  
  


She smiled affectionately at me. "No. This Elf has a different calling in life, I think, and one not suited to the black silks of the Shadow Warriors. You have chosen well, little sister. He is truly your equal and your complement."

  
  


He bowed his head, overwhelmed by Her approval. She turned Her face to me and smiled. "This cause that you join is a noble one. You go under My blessing; know that I have not deserted you. Look to the east, for the tide may yet turn."

  
  


She disappeared. Legolas stared at me, dumbfounded.

  
  


"Mornië?" His voice was hushed, awed. I had only seen him so moved by one other being- Galadriel.

  
  


I patted his shoulder. "You've been approved by a Goddess, Legolas. That's a rare thing indeed." My eyes fell on his clothing, and I burst out laughing. His garb, once the familiar hunter's greens, had been washed into deep indigo, the mark of the Twilight Chosen. He fingered the garments in wonderment. 

  
  


"The battle uniform of the Mother's Warriors. At least they are not black, or She might have stricken you celibate to match those silks. Shadow Warriors have only one great passion in life, and that is their duty to Her."

  
  


~***~


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Day broke and with it another freezing rain. We joined the ranks of soldiers on the battlements. Gimli eyed my robes and Legolas's newly indigo clothing, curiosity written upon his face, but did not ask. I sent a young boy to fetch Hellebore from the stables before he took his place on the walls; she stamped nervously as I clung to her reins. I would release her before the battle so that she could fight also.

  
  


Archers took their places along the walls. I rocked nervously on my feet, splitting my attention between each horizon. I turned away, mentally tallying the numbers inside the keep. Three hundred, including the Western men. Fear seized at my heart and stomach. I closed my eyes and prayed to the Mother for aid.

  
  


We could hear the approaching army, a great din of voices and horns and horses. The warriors along the wall tensed, shifted, muttered amongst themselves. Suddenly, Aragorn shouted and pointed toward the sky, at a winged form swooping low over the walls. I saw Legolas's longbow arc upward, intending to shoot, just before I saw the gold flash of eagle wings. I screamed at him to hold and raised my arm.

  
  


A massive eagle plummeted from the sky, screaming and bridling. It reared on my wrist, talons digging into my arms, wings spread in a fierce challenge. I spun to look again at the eastern shore. A host of riders was pouring along the causeway toward the keep. I saw familiar banners snapping in the breeze. I sprinted from my post at the rear tower toward the front walls.

  
  


"Prepare to open the gates! Open the gates!" I screamed at the guards. From the corner of my eye I saw Aragorn and Varyar pointing over the walls, Elven archers readying themselves. I dashed up the short staircase to Aragorn's side.

  
  


"Do not shoot. Look!" I pointed. "That is the banner of the Plainsfolk, a full hundred horsemen and near forty Shadow Warriors. My mother's people, all."

  
  


The air teemed with hunting birds of every description. The Plains force flooded into the keep and clattered to a halt. The lead rider bowed his head to us. "The People of the Grasslands have come." He gestured toward the back, a group traveling under several different banners. "We bring Mages from the Five Schools, thirty in all, both warriors and Healers. They are yours to command."

  
  


A Plainsman rode forward and slid off his horse. He removed his travel cloak and faced me; I nearly wept to see my cousin Fallingleaf. "Greetings, cousin. The Plains archers will stand with you." He studied me closely. "You have been too long away from your mother's people. You have no hunting bird-- what sort of Clansibling are you?" His voice was teasing, but undershot with a current of worry. "My own bird's mate will be hatching soon- I will speak with them about a fledgling for you."

  
  


I laughed and embraced him as a Twilight Chosen swordswoman, another relation, approached me. She dismounted and extended her hand. "Kelara Shadow Warrior. We were commanded by the Twilight Mother herself. Tell us what to do, and we will do it." She grasped my arm, grinning wolfishly. "When you don't like the fight, change the rules, eh, cousin?" Warriors continued to stream into the small enclosure; they were scrambling up the staircases past bewildered Rohirrim and Gondorian fighters. More and more of my family crowded around me, babbling and hugging and laughing. I struggled free of them and caught Legolas watching us, a bemused smile on his face. 

  
  


I waved and mouthed to him, "Family. This isn't all, by half." I savored the startled face, the slightly horrified expression as he mentally counted the relatives present and doubled it. Aragorn, having caught the exchange, grinned broadly and clapped him on the shoulder. Gimli's laughter boomed over the courtyard.

  
  


I motioned Aragorn to take command of the newly-arrived troops. I left my cousins' sides to introduce the unit commanders to the appropriate members of our company, then introduced myself to the new Mages, none of whom I knew. Those of us who could fight, sixty in full, took up positions along the highest rear battlement, reasoning that we would be well out of reach of normal weapons while still being able to see to fight. I saw Legolas talking to a tall Grasslands Bowbrother; the Brother pulled an arrow from his quiver for Legolas to examine and they fell into an animated conversation. 

  
  


I turned to the slender, raven-haired Adept by my side; her crimson robes labeled her a Easterling Mage, one who followed the path of power and destruction. I had heard of their prowess in battle, but I had also heard that they were brutal and sadistic amateurs that needed the deaths of living things to create magic. She turned flat black eyes to me. 

  
  


"Do not worry, Mornië Shadowwalker. Or should I call you Morna...no, that is his private name for you. Fitting." She gazed at me, still reading my thoughts. "Some of us do have our own Talent, and we do not turn on our compatriots. I am Sala Ironeyes." I nodded, accepting her statement as a vow. She scanned the oncoming army, just visible beyond the wall. She raised her voices so that all the assembled Mages could hear.

  
  


"They have Mages, thirty in all, trained for combat in the great wars. We must strike at them while we have surprise to our advantage. Once they know we have Mages, they will surely target us. Hit them hard, strike to kill, and guard yourselves. Keep an eye on the non-Mages-- they have volunteered their aid, but we cannot expect them to match us. If anyone falls, leave them for the Healers. Do not try to assist them yourself- we need all attention on the battle. If you are wounded and cannot continue, remove yourself from the field. Ready yourselves. We face a long day."

  
  


We watched over the defensive wall as the approaching army surged across the causeway. Aragorn pointed and shouted; small bands were launching raiding crafts from the far shore. I was horrified. The Keep was well defended from foot soldiers, but the outer walls would be easily scaled from ships. This was a threat we had not faced before

  
  


I touched Rage at my side, assuring myself that she was in reach. The Mages spaced themselves along the wall and began to chant, a deep, throbbing rhythm that drew power up from the ground and the river behind us. I could feel the power tingling in my fingertips as I joined them. I could feel a wall of power, surging like a blocked river, building around us. I shook with the desire to release it, to fight.

  
  


The archers at the battlements sighted and drew, waiting. I saw Legolas's pale head, motionless at his bow. I could sense their nerviness, a fine edge of fear that shot through the human company. A single bow twanged, a single arrow flew, a single Easterling fell. A long moment of silence, then the roar of charging Easterlings and Orcs.

  
  


Arrows flew like deadly wind, cutting a wide swath in the advancing line. As one, the Mage line flung spell after spell, mowing through the soldiers like a scythe. Together we managed to destroy perhaps two dozen before their Mages spotted us. An Orc arrow struck down the Mage to my left; she was borne away by the Healers. The dark Adept shouted above the din of battle.

  
  


"Guard yourselves! Their eyes are upon us!" We threw up shields but too late to save several of our companions. I felt them fall, felt some die. Arrows thudded against my own shields, rebounding into the enclosure below.

  
  


"Mornië!" Aragorn roared at me from the front walls. "How stands the Mage line?" I scanned the line in each direction, counting.

  
  


"Three wounded, sixteen dead. We still stand. Can you buy us some breathing space?" He signaled assent, ordering the archers to fire at their bowmen. The hail of arrows slowed.

  
  


Ladders swung toward the great walls bearing hundreds of enemy soldiers. We caught as many as we could, but our attention was badly divided between the ladders, the foot soldiers, and the raiding crafts. I felt more Mages fall, struck down by dark magic. I heard Aragorn screaming at the archers to redirect; I saw Legolas's bow swing toward the water, an arrow shriek from his bow. I had only begun to wonder when the section of wall beneath them collapsed. The approaching ships were using great hooks to pull down the defensive walls ad create breaches in our defenses. Men plummeted from the walls onto the stone floors and into the freezing sea.

  
  


I shouted down the Mage line and pointed toward the ships. I grabbed a Healer as she rushed by and shoved her toward the staircase.

  
  


"Go forward and help the survivors. Get them away from that gap, and find some way to go after those in the water. Hurry, before they freeze."

  
  


Sala grabbed me as I started to move out of the line; I ached to find Legolas, to see if he lived. She shook me viciously.

  
  


"Get back in line or don't come back! You are still needed here!" We glared at each other, then she shook me again and pointed. "There are your friends. They live, but will not do so without help. Get to work!"

  
  


The battle raged, on and on. More Mages fell; eventually, ten of us held the line. The defenders were forced back into the keep as the enemy swarmed the through gap in our the walls. Positioned as we were atop the rear wall, we were protected from siege by the bulk of the keep itself; once inside, the invaders would have to fight through the defenders within the building to get to us. Sala's compatriots whipped the other Mages into a frenzy, magic swelling like the ocean itself, but it wasn't enough to stem the tide of soldiers. 

  
  


I heard a clatter of hooves on the cobblestone courtyard; Aragorn and Varyar burst out of the keep onto the long causeway surrounded by mounted warriors. I saw Legolas's fair hair flashing in the fading light, his twin blades flashing and biting. Shadow Warriors on Plains battlesteeds darted through the lines, their horses lashing out in every direction. My attention was wrenched away from the riders as a score of Easterlings and Orcs burst out of the stairway less than a yard from me. Sala shrieked at us to fall back; the Mages sprinted out of sword reach. I was yanked up short by a surge of anger flooding up from Rage. I heard Sala yelling something at me, something I couldn't hear over Rage's battlesong in my head.

  
  


I whipped the long Blade from the scabbard, connecting solidly with a pig-tusked Orc. He dropped to the ground and was quickly replaced by another. Rage snaked and twisted, dragging me with her in an intricate dancing pattern. We tore into the wall of Orcs, backed by the chants of the mages.

  
  


I spun and slashed at them for eternities. Unfortunately, the one thing Rage could not do was bolster my already flagging strength. My arm felt like lead, my head was throbbing from the earlier exertion of casting, my feet slowed despite Rage's insistence. There seemed to be no end to the enemy. I slipped on a puddle of blood and crashed to one knee, barely raising the Blade in time to block the next Orc. We struggled together, straining.

  
  


A great shout went up among the Mages. Sala roared out news of the battle even as she cast against the Orcs pressing in around us.

  
  


"A host approaches, Elves in golden armor!" The Mirkwood Elves had come. I breathed a sigh of relief moments too early. I lunged away from the Orc bearing down on me; as I dodged out of another's grasp, I slipped again. I tottered on the edge of the battlement, balanced precariously above the courtyard. Sala leaped toward me, forming a restraining spell. As I tried to regain my balance, I heard a high pitched whistling, then felt an unbelievable burst of pain just below my shoulderblade.

  
  


Time seemed to slow and stop. I gasped, suddenly unable to breathe. I stared down at the Orc arrow protruding from my chest. I stared beyond the courtyard at the lone archer perched on the front battlements. Azak, wielding an Orcish longbow with another arrow already nocked. I heard Sala scream, calling for an archer to take him down, her voice echoing from a great distance as another arrow thudded into my hip. I overbalanced, and plummeted off the battlement. I had just enough time to whisper a prayer for my friends' safety before I hit the ground.

  
  


~***~


	14. Chapter Fourteen

In my dreams, I walked through a forest blasted and laid to waste. The trees reached into the sky like warped hands praying for supplication. In the distance I saw a figure clad in Shadow Warrior black, silhouetted against the burning sky. I raced to catch up to the figure. I seized its shoulder and whirled it around.

  
  


I gazed deep into the Mother's eyes. She smiled at me with infinite kindness and boundless love. "My child, you must return to the world. You are greatly needed there."

  
  


"I cannot. Mother, I cannot. It's too hard, I'm too tired. Please." I clung to her, wanting only to rest and be away from that other world.

  
  


"It is not yet your time to come to Me. Go back until I call you to Me." She gathered me to Her bosom, cradling me in Her strong arms. I closed my eyes, feeling Her fingers stroking through my tangled hair. "Go back, and love your Western Elf. You have many, many years left to you."

  
  


I gasped, choking, as hot liquid filled my mouth. I lurched upright on the narrow bed, lashing out at the hands that tried to force me back down. I could hear my own breath, loud and whistling in my ears. Pain clawed at me, paralyzing my limbs and seizing my lungs in an iron fist. I choked again and coughed, blood splattering onto the white sheets. I was suddenly dizzy and fell back onto the bed, gasping frantically for air I couldn't capture.

  
  


"You must lie still, melda. Beloved, they cannot help you unless you hold still." I swung my head toward the voice. Legolas bent over the bed, his face filthy and dappled with blood. His indigo silks were torn and smeared with blood and something unspeakably foul-smelling. He gripped my hand tightly in his own, his eyes holding mine, unblinking. I twitched and cried out as a Healer touched the arrow still embedded in my chest. Legolas grabbed my chin in his free hand and held my face firmly. He spoke calmly and carefully.

  
  


"Dearest, they have to pull the arrow out. The Healers are afraid to put a sleep spell on you for fear we will lose you again. Can you be strong for this?" I stared into his deep blue eyes, feeling an eerie calm wash over my body. My breathing slowed and quieted. I licked a trace of blood from my lips, and rasped out an answer.

  
  


"Tell them to hurry." He gripped my hand and my face tightly. He glanced up; from the corners of my eyes I saw Aragorn, Gimli, and Sala standing at the end of the bed. The Healer, a tiny, solemn women, motioned them closer. She issued instructions in a crisp voice.

  
  


"My lords, I need you to hold her down. The arrow must come out cleanly without tearing anything on its way out, and she must be kept still the whole time. Sala, take this bandage. As soon as the arrow comes free, you must put as much pressure on the wound as you can." They gathered around the bed. Aragorn stripped off his belt and strapped my free arm to the leg of the bed; when he was sure it was secure, he straddled the bed and leaned his full weight onto my lower torso. I felt Gimli pin my legs down, one massive hand around each calf.

  
  


Aragorn glanced up at Legolas as the Healer bustled around locating equipment. He grinned slightly. "Legolas, my brother, I hope that you will not call me out later for such familiarities with your lady." Legolas smiled grimly. 

  
  


"And you." Aragorn looked down at me, still grinning. "I hear you have recently recovered from a similar wound. Mornië, you must get out of the habit of injury. You will have no lungs left, otherwise." I tried to laugh and choked on coppery liquid. Aragorn sobered again. He grabbed Legolas's arm and stared into his eyes.

  
  


"Turn her face away, Legolas. Hold her eyes." He glanced down at my face and touched my cheek lightly. "Hold onto him, Mornië. Do not let go of him, not for anything." I nodded, a single jerk of the head.

  
  


The Healer approached the bed. "Are you ready, sister?" I couldn't control my whimper of fear as I jerked my head again. Aragorn and Gimli put their whole weight against my body. Legolas gripped my free hand and pressed my head against the pillow with the entire strength of his arm, his elbow curved over my ear and his palm cupping my forehead. His chilly eyes fixed on mine; I heard his voice whispering Elvish to me. I felt the arrow wiggle slightly as the Healer grasped it. She counted to three and yanked upwards.

  
  


The pain was immense, a tearing, blinding fire that ripped through my chest. My whole body jerked as I screamed in pure agony. Aragorn cursed and forced my body back onto the bed. The pain went on and on, grinding through bone, slicing through my lungs, stealing every breath from my body. I felt tears pouring down my face. The pain lessened momentarily. The Healer straightened; I glanced down out of the corner of my eyes and saw the arrow still protruding from my chest. 

  
  


"Oh, Blessed Mother, help me. It hurts." My voice was a ragged sob lacking reason or sense. "Please. Pull it out. Tell her to pull it out or kill me. Please."

  
  


Legolas snapped at the Healer in frustration. "Are you not done yet? Why is it not out?" He stroked my forehead, trying to calm me.

  
  


She turned to him, her face frightened. "I am not strong enough to remove it. It has pierced the bone and is caught. We need a male Healer, someone with more strength, but we have none." She pressed her lips together, her brow creased with anxiety. She touched Legolas on the shoulder, breaking our gaze. "My lord, someone must remove the arrow, or she will die. And I cannot." Her look was significant, pleading.

  
  


He stared at her in shock. He rose slowly, still touching my face. He stared at the arrow, then at the others. Aragorn muttered something to him that I could not hear, his face serious. Legolas nodded and knelt again, whispering into my ear.

  
  


"Beloved, I have to let go of you now. Please know that it kills me to hurt you." I squeezed his hand, panicking as I felt a hot trickle gush out of my mouth. I pushed him away from me.

  
  


"Just hurry. Hurry, and be quick." He nodded, his face a stony mask. The Healer took his place at my side, pinning my head to the bed again. I felt him place one knee on the bed and grasp the arrow. I vaguely remarked that his touch was steadier than the Healer's. He counted softly, then pulled.

  
  


I felt the arrow this time, through the pain, as it tore back out of my body. I shrieked again, so strongly that there was no sound. I felt a gush of blood, then a pressure on my chest as the arrow slid free and Sala leaned down on the wound. The Healer sprang into motion as the Aragorn and Gimli leaped off the bed and out of the way. Legolas knelt beside me again and took my hand. I noticed that he was streaked with my blood, his hands sticky and wet. I raised my fingertips to his bright hair, matted with blood and dirt, and brushed at the loose strands. He smiled weakly at me, stroking my face with his one clean finger. 

  
  


"Legolas. The Mage line. How many...still alive?" A pained expression crossed his face.

  
  


"Eight. Three uninjured. We turned them back, in the end." Eight, of sixty. I closed my eyes, already mourning. He slapped my face lightly. 

  
  


"Open your eyes, beloved. Do not fail on me now." I focused on his blue eyes again, almost black with fear and worry. I smiled faintly and touched his face.

  
  


"Don't worry. I saw Her, the Dark One. She sent me back. It's not my time yet, She said. We have much time left to us."

  
  


He smiled, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "That is good. Besides, you cannot go until you have shown me your home. You promised, remember?"


	15. Chapter Fifteen

We buried our dead, again, in the soft earth of the forest floor. This time, I wept for those warriors of Rohan and Gondor and Mirkwood and Lórien, all our allies who could not be carried to their homes. We held a mourning ritual for them, all of them, our children and those of the West. We had never buried so many at once, at least not within my memory. The Walkers gathered on the third night after the battle to process to our Grove together.

  
  


I was hard pressed to convince my compatriots to allow me to attend. Legolas raged at me, accusing me of trying to cripple myself. In the end, they almost won; I could not rise from my bed under my own power. Less than an hour before the mourning began, several black-clad Shadow Warriors appeared in the doorway, bearing a sedan chair left over from our previous Protector. I was carefully dressed and gently carried across the causeway to the Shadow Grove. We were joined, also for the first time, by all the peoples who had fought in this battle. I saw Aragorn and Gimli, silent as stone, and Legolas, clad in sober grey clothing.

  
  


The ceremony itself was simple; Varyar poured a pitcher of cold, fresh water onto the ground and prayed for the safe passage of the souls of the dead to the next realm. As the water soaked into the ground, one of the remaining Mages wailed aloud and broke into a haunting funeral lament. One by one, the other Mages joined the song, eerie notes rising into the silent trees. Our normally stoic Warriors joined the circle, supporting and comforting the Mages, weeping out their own grief to the watching stars.

  
  


I managed to rise from my chair. I swayed, overcome by the heart-rending sound, tears pouring down my face. The notes pressed against my ear until I too joined the song, falling to my knees, keening in despair. No Shadow Warrior stepped forward to join me in my sorrow; I was keenly aware of how many we had lost. I wept for Niquë, my closest friend, and her mate, both lost to the freezing waters of the sea. All of those who rode with me to Gondor, all but Sára, were dead, and now I would be always alone. I buried my face in my hands, covering my eyes with my sleeves, rocking on my knees. The loss was too great to comprehend; I had grown up with them, played with them, studied with them. We stood together and fought together, but they each died alone.

  
  


Cool hands touched my shoulders just above the line of my robes. Legolas knelt behind me, imitating the Warriors around him, wrapping his arms around me, burying his face in my hair. I clung to him, tangled in grief and loss too profound to speak. Slowly, one by one, the other fighters joined our song; Aragorn and Gimli knelt beside me and I clutched their hands tightly.

  
  


~***~


	16. Chapter Sixteen

The war was far from over. The Easterling forces fled back across the scrub deserts of central Rhûn, burning forests and grasslands as they went. We received news of an Avari settlement burned to the ground, all the people slaughtered. As the reports rolled in, parchments filled with tales of death and destruction, so did the refugees. I had thought there were no Avari left at large in the world during the siege of Twilight Keep, but the survivors of dead villages poured in constantly. Varyar sent them to me with orders to scribe down any detail that could be wrung from their memories; the armies needed every scrap of information that could be gathered.

  
  


A week after the siege of Twilight Keep, Aragorn mustered a force of fighters , including Legolas and Gimli, and rode out to pursue the fleeing Easterlings. They chased the ragged band for miles, finally catching them halfway to the Sea of Halcar. They left no survivors, Legolas told me, only a pile of corpses clearly marked with Elvish arrows. A message, he said. I wondered if it was an invitation instead.

  
  


The attacks died after the marauders were destroyed, but I was profoundly uneasy. I did not, in truth, think that the danger had ended. Gratifyingly, Aragorn agreed with me. He sent several men back to the Free Kingdoms to request as many forces as could be spared; his plan was to march across Rhûn to the Sea of Halcar and besiege the Easterling city. 

  
  


Due to the great skill of the Plains Healers, I left the Healing Hall on my own feet less than three weeks later. My back ached from the fall onto the stone courtyard, and I had to sit often to rest, but I was able to walk and to think clearly again. I threw myself back into my work far sooner than I should have, struggling through piles of treaties and alliance agreements and a constant flow of letters from other lands. Varyar ordered me to the libraries, chasing after obscure information on the Easterlings and the city by the Sea of Helcar. I spent hours in the libraries and in his study, poring over the information I found and trying to make sense of legend and rumor. I worked deep into the nights, stopping only when my eyes failed or Legolas dragged me away from my desk.

  
  


Several weeks I left my bed, Varyar called me into his study. My old Teacher helped me into a chair by the fire, pouring a mug of something hot and spicy for me to drink. He seated himself across from me, studying my face intently. His gaze was intense enough to drive a blush into my cheeks; I instinctively reached for a hood that was not there, to cover my features.

  
  


"You are still self-conscious about your face?" His voice was kindly, but his eyes were sharp and cold. "Vanity does not become a Chosen one, Mornië. You know this. You must learn to rejoice in hardships, for only by suffering can we earn the Mother's grace."

  
  


I lowered my eyes. "Yes, I know. I have tried, Master." I reverted to the title of respect I had used as one of his students. I studied my fingernails, picking at a chip in my thumbnail. I did not think he would be amused by a retelling of my encounter with the Mother Herself, so I bit my tongue.

  
  


He raised his voice slightly to regain my attention. "It has come to my attention that you have formed an...attachment with one of the Western Elves. This concerns me greatly, child. He is not of our people, he does not know our ways, and he will come between you and your duty to this Order." He sat back in his chair, waiting for my reaction.

  
  


I thought carefully before I answered. "Master, I am grateful for your concern. I am not worthy of such care." I kept my face carefully blank, refusing to disclose how angry his words made me.

  
  


He sighed in irritation. "It is not your thanks I want, Mornië. It is your obedience. You will have nothing further to do with him-or any other Outlander-unless it is required of you in combat." He patted my hand. I controlled the sudden urge to strike him.

  
  


"I do not understand, Master. Forgive me, for I am not as learned as you, but I do not understand why I am forbidden to associate with him. He has never tried to interfere with my duties, and I do not believe that he would do so."

  
  


Varyar rose, his face thunderous. "Do not cross me in this matter, child. I am still the Protector of this Keep, and you are still under my command. I will not have this Order poisoned by Outlanders and their barbaric ways." He fixed me with a hard stare. "You have grown altogether too willful during your time amongst these barbarians. Do not goad me into reminding you of your place."

  
  


I lowered my eyes again, realizing how perilously close I was to correction. He glared at me for several moments. When he spoke, his voice was silky and dangerous.

  
  


"You will not see him again. And to see that you do not, I have decided to send you to Storm Keep. They are small and isolated, and they need a teacher to work with their children."

  
  


I leaped to my feet, shocked. "You cannot send me away, not now. There is much to be done, or have you forgotten we are at war?" I regretted the words instantly. Such resistance would only goad him into sending me away more quickly. I was not mistaken in that; before I could react, his palm cracked across my cheek. The force of the blow staggered me. He gripped my upper arm, tightening his fingers until I winced and whimpered softly. He slapped me again, hard enough to rock my head back; I felt my lip split and a thin trickle of blood seep into my mouth. Tears sprang into my eyes and streaked down my face. He shook me, a single, violent motion that clicked my teeth together, then shoved me against the heavy wooden door. He smiled, a thin, hard pressing-together of the lips.

  
  


"You will learn obedience if I must beat it into you myself. You are a secretary, girl. Nothing more. You do not have the privilege of defying me, nor will you ever. You will be leaving at first light. I suggest that you pack quickly and try to rest." He waved, dismissing me from his presence. I bowed, not quite deeply enough to be properly respectful, and stalked out of the room, dabbing at my lip to control the bleeding. I stormed along the narrow hallway, clenching my jaw until my face ached. He would send someone to follow me, I knew, to prevent me from seeing Legolas before I left. How could I get word to him? I continued to walk, my pace increasing as my anger mounted. I glanced behind me; as I thought, a slight figure in dark robes shadowed my footsteps along the corridor.

  
  


A sudden idea stopped me short before the doors to the Warrior's halls. Impulsively, I pushed the heavy door open and slipped inside, scanning the faces for Sára. She waved at me from a crowded table in the corner. I raised my hood-reasonable enough, given the chill in the room-to hide my face from them. I wedged between two massive Plains Bowbrothers as they gestured and argued. Sára's tablemates made room for me and pushed a plate and a platter of hot meat towards me. I ate, savoring the heavy food, and listened to them banter amongst themselves. They were discussing the recent siege and comparing the performance of the Western fighters to their own. I concentrated on my food until I heard Legolas's name.

  
  


Sára nudged me, grinning good-naturedly. "Aye, that one's a crack shot, he is, and I'd wager he's just as good a huntsman off the field as on. Isn't he, sister?" She winked outrageously. I flushed as the other Warriors burst into laughter. The Warrior next to her leaned around to tease me, grinning at my discomfort. Sára pushed him out of her way and laughed at my mortified face. I let them laugh a while longer, then leaned close to Sára as the conversational spotlight turned on someone else.

  
  


"Sára, do you think Legolas is a good person?" She stared at me, puzzled.

  
  


"Yes. I think he is a fine warrior and an exceptional person. And he treats you well, which is more important. Why?

  
  


I put her off for another moment. "I mean, do you think he would try to come between me and the Order? Do you think he would ask me to...change?" I frowned into my plate as she considered this.

  
  


"I do not know him as well as you, but somehow I cannot see him asking you to leave the Order, if that is what you are asking. Who have you been talking to?" She caught me as I rolled my eyes. "Oh, I see. Varyar called you out for chumming around with the Outlanders, I bet. What did he say to you?"

  
  


I gripped the edges of my sleeves, clenching my fists in remembered anger. "He is sending me away. Tomorrow. To Storm Keep."

  
  


She gasped, her eyes round with disbelief. "So far? You can't be serious! That's ridiculous and just cruel. Have you told Legolas? What did he say?"

  
  


I shook my head. "No. I am afraid to see him. Varyar is having me watched, and I cannot risk angering him further. Remember Ambar." I lowered my voice to a whisper. "Will you do something for me?"

  
  


"What do you need?" Her eyes gleamed. Sára had always loved a good intrigue, particularly if it meant breaking rules.

  
  


"I need you to tell Aragorn what has happened. Varyar has said I may only see Legolas if my presence is required for combat-perhaps he can think of a way to accomplish that without alerting Varyar."

  
  


She nodded, a frown creasing her brows. "What if it doesn't work?"

  
  


"Then I need you to get word to Legolas. Tell him where I've gone and how to get there. Tell him to come as soon as he can without raising suspicions." 

  
  


She smiled, a single twist of her mouth, and rose from the table. 

  
  


~***~


	17. Chapter Seventeen

I retreated to my rooms, hoping to not raise suspicion myself by lingering too long in the Warrior's halls. I closed the door, shutting out both the bustle of the keep and the spying figure in grey, and leaned against the thick wooden door. I gazed around my room for the last time.

  
  


I jumped as a loud knock shook the door behind my back. I hesitated before opening it, unwilling to face Varyar or one of his spies at this late hour. I called out instead and winced at the nervous edge in my voice.

  
  


"Who is it?" I lifted my hood further over my face as I glanced in the small mirror on the back of the door; my cheeks were deeply bruised, my lip swollen and still bleeding, and I looked like a cornered animal.

  
  


"Open the door, Mornië." Aragorn's rough voice growled through the thick wood. "We have strategy to discuss."

  
  


I opened the door slightly, peeking out at him. "You shouldn't be here. I know I asked for your help, but you cannot be seen near my rooms."

  
  


He placed one hand flat against the surface of the door and leaned. I tried to close the door but was not strong enough to keep him from forcing it open. I finally stopped resisting and let him in. He smiled grimly and shut the door quickly behind him. I motioned him to a chair, stepping ahead of him to move my traveling bags from the seat. He leaned forward in the chair, clasping his hands loosely in front of him and studying me intently. I ducked my head further into my hood, feigning a chill.

  
  


"I could think of no good reason to bring Legolas here with me. Sára said that you were being watched, and I thought it more practical to come alone. But I will be sure he knows what has happened." He cocked his head at me as I tried to conceal my disappointment. I turned away from him to start the task of packing.

  
  


I busied myself around the room, sorting through books and personal objects. Clothing would be no difficulty, since I only owned four sets of robes, but I had to choose which of my possessions to leave behind. I stopped in the center of the room, overwhelmed by the task. Aragorn stood, grabbed me by one shoulder, and pushed me into a chair.

  
  


"Why are you leaving?" His voice was a low growl, tense with irritation. I glanced at him, confused by the question.

  
  


"I do not have a choice, Aragorn. I have been commanded by the head of my Order; I cannot disobey him." 

  
  


He shook his dark head and snorted doubtfully. "You are not that subservient, Mornië. I have trouble believing that you would simply obey such an order without protest. Why go?"

  
  


All the anger and bitterness I had forced down since my meeting with Varyar roared back into my head. "Because if I do not, he will turn me out. I will be put out, Aragorn. Out of the Order and out of the Clans. The Avari prize obedience and loyalty above all else, and there is no place in our world for one who cannot bend to the will of the Clan."

  
  


He met my eyes, challenging. "Why are you afraid of leaving? There are places for you to go, you need not remain in exile. Come to Gondor with us, or travel. Visit Mirkwood-you would have a willing guide there."

  
  


I shook my head slowly, finding myself appallingly close to tears. "I have seen Varyar put out Shadowwalkers before, Aragorn. They are despised by all Avari. They have no home, no people, no refuge. They cease to exist, even to those who love them the most." I studied my hands while I tried to push down memories of an exiled Walker, of hazel eyes begging me to recognize him, of the dull rotting pain of denying another's existence.

  
  


Aragorn touched my trembling hand. "Who was it, Mornië? One of your kin, or a friend?"

  
  


"No. His name was Ambar. He was a mage, one of Varyar's former students. He was here when I came. He was the first person I met here; he was so kind to me, those first few months. I missed my family, my home, so much that I couldn't breathe sometimes, and he tried so hard to distract me from that." Once I started, the words seemed to pour out of me.

  
  


"We became friends, then lovers. We planned to be Bonded, to become mates. Then he did something or said something- I never found out what because no one was allowed to talk about it. He was put out. We had to witness it, to be there when he was sent away from the Keep. He crossed the courtyard, stripped of his robes, and we all turned our backs on him. He begged me, Aragorn. He begged me to look at him, to see him, to come with him. And I couldn't. I didn't. I turned my back on him, just like the others."

  
  


"What happened to him?" I closed my eyes against the sudden pain the question struck into me.

  
  


"He died. He drowned himself beside the causeway a month after he was put out. He never tried to go anywhere else; he just stayed on the shore and waited for Varyar to change his mind. Someone must have been feeding him somehow- I don't know who. It wasn't me, but I used to sit in my window at night and watch him and wish I had the courage to go to him."

  
  


Aragorn leaned back in his chair, his eyes full of compassion, waiting. I fidgeted under his scrutiny until I could no longer remain silent.

  
  


"I can't do that, Aragorn. He was so much stronger than I- if he wasn't able to leave, what would happen to me?"

  
  


He shook his head irritably. "What would happen to you? How can I convince you that you would not be abandoned here? You have friends, Mornië, that would not hesitate to help you. None of us would turn our backs on you. All you have to do is send for us, let us know that you are in need." 

  
  


I nodded thoughtfully. I knew, somehow, that he spoke the truth, yet I still felt bound to obey the command I had been given. I spoke slowly, carefully choosing my words.

  
  


"I believe you, when you say these things. But I am still bound by the oath I took when I became a Shadowwalker. I cannot walk away from that as if it meant nothing." I sighed, staring into the fire again.

  
  


"Aside from my oath, Varyar is right. Storm Keep has no teacher for their children and no Warriors to help defend it. They need what little I can do for them, especially if this conflict continues."

  
  


"But aren't they here, Mornië? I thought Sára said the Clan settlements had emptied."

  
  


I smiled at him, pleased that he was comfortable enough with my people to converse freely with them. "Storm Keep is in the deepest part of the Deep Forest. The people there would only come out of their settlement if it had been destroyed. They are not trusting of strangers there."

  
  


His face creased in confusion. "Then why are they sending you there, if these people do not care for strangers?"

  
  


"I am not a stranger there, Aragorn. Storm Keep is in my home settlement."

  
  


~***~

We talked for a few hours; to oblige any curious ears, he outlined his plans for the siege of the Easterling city. He also asked me to draw a map of Storm Keep, then recommended defensive measures in case eyes turned toward the deeper forests. At last he rose, tucking the map into his pocket. He saw my bemused expression and winked.

  
  


"This may be useful, later." He clasped my shoulder, a friendly gesture between warriors. "Do not despair, Mornië. A solution will present itself. Until then, I would warn you to be very cautious, and keep your wits about you." He paused at the doorway.

  
  


"It wouldn't hurt to keep a blade near you, either. In case someone else takes a notion to strike you."

  
  


I sat for a long while after he left, turning his words over in my mind. I reached over to the bed and slipped Rage out of her scabbard. I turned the Blade over in my hands, watching the dying firelight play across the steel. I sheathed her and, impulsively, slid the scabbard under my pillow. If Aragorn believed I would be in enough danger to go constantly armed, developing the habit quickly would be prudent.

  
  


Western Elves, I reflected as I finished packing and readied for bed, did not seem to need sleep as my people did. They slid into a half-sleep, a trance, but we were not so lucky. I was exhausted and wanted only to sleep for a few hours before the next day's journey. I crawled under the soft blankets and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  
  


Sometime in the grey hours of the morning, I was awakened by a noise at my window. I had my back to the glass and could see a shadow moving across my bedclothes in the pale moonlight. I slid my hand further under the pillow, easing Rage from her scabbard as I heard the window click open softly; my nerves seemed to leap as the intruder slipped into the room, carefully placing feet to avoid noise. As the steps neared my bed, I lunged in an explosion of bedclothes. Rage glittered against his pale throat.

  
  


"Are you trying to get killed? What were you thinking, sneaking in my window like that?" My voice was shaking from the sudden burst of fear, and I saw that my blade hand was shaking as well.

  
  


Legolas spread his hands in surrender. That strange smile ghosted across his lips as I withdrew the blade.

  
  


"I see Aragorn has been coaching you. You are a quick student. I wanted to see you before you left, and I assumed that no one would be watching the outside of the building. It was simple enough- someone very thoughtfully built a column beside your window."

  
  


He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes dark. He touched my hair hesitantly, brushing it away from my face. I clasped his fingers in my own to distract him from my face.

  
  


"You are troubled, beloved." I pitched my voice low, so that anyone listening outside would not hear our words and carry tales to Varyar. He smiled again, a slight movement of the lips that did not quite touch his eyes.

  
  


"I will not deny that I am concerned for you. You will be traveling alone, such a distance, and then will be alone in a place too far away for us to reach quickly should you need us."

  
  


I nodded at his words. "That has concerned me, also. I hope that we are far enough out of the sight of the world that we will escape notice."

  
  


"How long will you be there?"

  
  


"Permanently, I suppose." I sighed, shaking my head. "I doubt that Varyar would simply leave me there until you have left our lands. He will be trying to punish me for even allowing myself to be intrigued by you. He is certainly displeased that there is affection between us; I think he would be less annoyed had it been a physical encounter alone. At least then there would be no possibility of conflict between love and duty."

  
  


He chuckled and pulled me into his arms. "I suspect that my father will feel the same." He sobered then, sighing into my hair. "Do you need me to join you there? Aragorn would not be pleased, but there are other archers here, and I would not see you in harm's way."

  
  


I twisted in his arms to face him fully. "Legolas, you must not allow yourself to be distracted by concerns for me. You are needed here, and I will not ask you to set aside your responsibilities for my sake. You know that." I tried to be severe with him, but could not hold the expression when he grinned devilishly at me.

  
  


His face grew grave again; he coaxed the hanging strands of my hair away from my face. I twisted away from him, but he held me firmly as he examined the bruises on my face. He touched my swollen lip gently, wincing at my gasp of pain. He pulled me into his arms, whispering against my head.

  
  


"Aragorn told me you had been injured. I did not realize...who was it assaulted you thus? Was it your master?"

  
  


I burrowed my head into his shoulder. "I forgot myself, and was reminded of my place."

  
  


He rocked me gently. "It was not the first time, was it? He is the reason you were so shy of us in Minas Tirith."

  
  


I nodded. "Varyar does not believe in coddling his Shadowwalkers, particularly those in his close employ. I have an unfortunate tendency to speak without considering the consequences."

  
  


"You do not believe you deserve such treatment? Beloved, no one should be permitted to beat another, no matter what was said."

  
  


I pushed away from him slightly, my eyes darting over his face. "I did believe so, yes. But now, since I have seen how Aragorn treats his men, his subjects, and how they love him even to their deaths...I cannot think that such loyalty exists here. We do not know love, only fear and intimidation and envy of those who are lucky enough to escape his notice." I smiled wryly. "I fear that being in your company has spoiled me for obedience. I have grown altogether too accustomed to speaking my mind to be pleasing to my master any longer."

  
  


He laughed again as I yawned hugely against his chest. He lowered me back onto the pillow and stretched out behind me, curling his arm around my waist. I snuggled back into the curve of his body and tucked my hand into his. He pressed his face into my hair, gently kissing my scalp and the tip of my ear. I could hear his whispered words as they stirred my hair.

  
  


"Here I put us both in jeopardy, my own neck at risk climbing down that column, and you're falling asleep. Come, you need rest. You have a long journey ahead of you in the morning." He stroked my hair until I fell asleep.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

He was gone when I woke the next morning. I rummaged under the pillow to retrieve Rage, and my fingers brushed across something hard and square. I pulled a small box out along with the Blade and scabbard; opening it, I found a square of parchment folded around an exquisite silver ring. The parchment was covered in a few lines of elegantly formed Westron, Legolas's concession to my halting familiarity with his language.

  
  


This ring belonged to my mother. I would be deeply honored if you would consent to wear it. Remember that I am not far away.

  
  


I slipped the ring on the third finger of my right hand, where it fit as if made for me. I turned my hand in the early morning light, watching the watery sunlight glint off the carved band. It was a pretty bit of filigree, a delicate chain of leaves and vines twining around my finger. I stroked the cool metal, smiling to myself.

  
  


I peeled off my sleeping tunic and tucked it into my bag with the rest of my garments, then pulled my traveling robes over my head. As I fastened the dull metal buttons, I scanned the room to make sure I hadn't left anything of importance. The rest of my things would be sent to me later, but I disliked the idea of Varyar or his cronies pawing through my treasured possessions. I raked my hair back from my face, weaving it into two braids that I pinned tightly to my head. I picked up my cloak and travel bag, looked around the room one last time, and tucked Legolas's message into Rage's scabbard-pocket as I walked out of the room.

  
  


Hellebore was waiting for me in the courtyard, long with another horse already loaded with my bundles. I worried that such a heavy load would slow us needlessly. I strapped my traveling bag to Hellebore's saddle and was about to mount when a clear, familiar voice stopped me.

  
  


"Would you be wanting a bit of company, sister?"

  
  


I turned, surprised to see Sára, dressed and mounted, less than a yard away. She grinned broadly at the confusion on my face.

  
  


"I convinced Varyar that it was folly to send a single Walker cross country alone, especially someone with no magic or combat skills. He threatened to send me away- I told him that was fine as long as he sent me to Storm Keep with you. He obliged."

  
  


I shook my head, grateful for the company but concerned for her. "Sára, I appreciate your offer, but I could not ask you to leave your home."

  
  


She broke into my protests. "Then it is a good thing indeed that I volunteered. Saves you the trouble of feeling guilty. Come on. We have a hard ride, and I for one would like to be gone before Varyar decides to see us off."

  
  


~***~


	19. Chapter Nineteen

The ride to Storm Keep would take a little over nine hours, burdened as we were with the baggage and spare horse. As we moved away from the shore and further into the forest, the world around us became muffled, hushed by trees that increased in size as we traveled. Few birds called; the day was too dark and gloomy for many creatures to even realize that it was not night. We broke for lunch at what we assumed was midday, sitting on the ground beneath an enormous spreading oak that blocked out the pale light. Sára was nervy, on edge, her eyes shifting from side to side to watch the gathering gloom. She gazed at me questioningly.

  
  


"Doesn't this place make you nervous, Mornië? I feel like we're being watched but I don't see anyone..." She trailed off, her voice crushed under the weight of silence. I smiled slightly.

  
  


"We probably are being watched. We're about four hours from the Keep, which means we have entered my Clan holding. Deep Forest Elves are notoriously defensive of their territory; I am sure that a sentry or two have been following us for the last few miles." I chewed a piece of meat, scanning the treeline. "Perhaps I should have dressed more appropriately."

  
  


Sára gnawed at a chunk of bread. "This is the furthest I have ever been into the Forests. I was born at Twilight Keep, you know, but I've heard stories..."

  
  


I laughed, a brittle sound in the dead air. "I'm sure. Let me guess...stealing travelers, casting spells and enchantments, luring the unwary to untimely deaths, where, I suppose, they're cooked and eaten? We are not nearly so bloodthirsty a people, Sára, but we do protect ourselves. The Deep Forest Elves are aware of every thing that moves within their territories and if it be friendly or hostile."

  
  


"It seems that separation from your Clan has reduced your perceptions, cousin." I almost gasped aloud at the soft voice that floated out of the tree above us. As we leaped to our feet, a slender Elf dropped from the lower branches. He was taller than I by several inches, willowy and graceful with a hint of strength. His hair was dark, the shade of winter leaves, braided and twisted with sparkling objects and feathers. He wore garments that would blend seamlessly with the foliage, which explained why neither of us had seen him approach. He smiled gravely at our surprise.

  
  


"You were correct. We have been following you since you crossed into our territory. Luckily for you, Varyar notified us that you would be arriving today. Otherwise, you might have been mistaken for an Outlander." He extended his arm to me, grasping my forearm in the traditional greeting. He greeted Sára in the same way, then turned deep brown eyes to me again.

  
  


I bowed to him, acknowledging the truth of his words. "You look familiar, cousin. Are you kin or Clan?"

  
  


H paused to stroke Hellebore's nose before answering. "I am kin, Mornië Shadowwalker. I am cousin through your father's sister. I am Rain."

  
  


"I do recall you, cousin, but not clearly. I have been so long away that my memory of my family is dimming."

  
  


"I was but a child when you left for Twilight Keep, cousin. I doubt that you would remember a little boy, even if I was forever underfoot, begging for stories." He glanced about him, his eyes narrowing, listening, it seemed. "Come. We must go, and quickly. We have been watching a band of Hunters in these woods for several days. I do not know if they are near, but I would not like to meet them without assistance."

  
  


We gathered our things quickly and mounted. I gestured for him to join me and reached for him, but he vaulted onto Hellebore's back without my assistance. His presence over my shoulder reminded me of Legolas; they shared the same strong grip and graceful seat and were of a height to see easily over my shoulder as we rode. He pointed the way for us, picking out hidden trails that twisted away into the shadows, avoiding well-traveled tracks and open clearings in favor of more secret avenues that would, he said, steer us away from areas in which the Hunters had been seen.

  
  


We rode another three hours that way, before he ordered us to stop and dismount. He led us through a dense stand of trees and tangled vines until we came to a wide pool of black water. He pointed to a cliffside that rose, stark and grey, on the far side of the pool. A waterfall, icy as crystal, poured down the side of the cliff; alongside the waterfall, I could see an immense structure carved into the cliffs. Rain smiled again.

  
  


"This Keep was built shortly after you left to become a Shadowwalker. The Clan Elders determined that we could no longer defend our homes if they were not built of sturdier materials than wood, though it took several Hunter raids to come to such a decision." His face grew grim; I wondered how many people had been lost before the Elders were forced to make that decision. He stood in silence for several more moments, then gestured at us to follow him toward the Keep.

  
  


The structure was gigantic, easily twice the size of Twilight Keep, a stark, angular complex of stairs and windows hewn out of the bare rock of the bluff. It seemed inaccessible, rising as it did from the very edge of the water to the top edge of the cliff face. As we drew closer, the severe lines resolved into a heavily carved and ornamented series of layers, graceful arched windows and serpentine columns supporting sturdy ledges and balconies. I could see Elves moving about within the structure, crossing behind the wide windows and along interior corridors. Rain led us around the edge of the deep pool to a tall gateway built directly into the walls. He halted below the arched entrance and whistled a complex tune; the heavy iron gate swung open noiselessly and closed quietly behind us.

  
  


A young man approached Rain as we paused in the entry court. The two spoke rapidly, confusing my ears with the regional dialect I had all but forgotten. Rain turned to me, his face sober and formal.

  
  


"You're wanted before the Council of Elders, immediately." He frowned and shifted slightly onto one foot. "I apologize for the breach of hospitality. I had assumed they would allow you to rest and arrange your things, but their summons cannot be ignored now. Darkleaf will see you to the Council chamber."

  
  


I bowed slightly, acknowledging the apology before speaking. "I take no offense, Rain. I'm sure that they are anxious to see what Varyar has burdened them with. May leave my things?"

  
  


He smiled slightly, a twist of the lips that reminded me strongly of Legolas. "I'll make sure your things are carried to your rooms." He turned to Sára. "And I will show you the Keep. It is larger than it appears, and it is easy to get lost until you learn your way around."

  
  


The pair hefted bags over their shoulder, allowing several Elves to lead the horses away. I turned to young Darkleaf, who motioned me to follow. As we walked, I tried to brush some of the dust and forest debris from my robes and wipe sweat from my face. I caught Darkleaf watching me from the corners of his eyes, a slightly scornful look on his face. I supposed my bedraggled appearance did not inspire confidence, yet I was vaguely insulted and shamed by his silent criticism. I noticed the stares of passing Elves sweeping over my face and clothing; belatedly, I noticed that all the women were veiled to the eyes, thin layers of fabric that swathed their lower faces and covered their hair. I slipped my hood back up, covering my hair and shadowing my face to what I hoped was an acceptable degree.

  
  


I snapped out of my thoughts abruptly as Darkleaf halted before an iron-bound door. He knocked twice, then pushed the door open and gestured for me to enter. I was confronted by a half circle of men behind a polished wooden table, all staring at me with suspicion clear on their faces. None of them spoke as I entered the room; the man at the center of the arc pointed toward a chair, indicating that I should sit. As I lowered myself into the chair, I drew my hood closer to my face, trying to imitate the other women I had seen. Several of the Elders frowned toward me, the same displeasure as the other Elves quite evident. One of the men at the end of the arc spoke, his voice firm yet quiet.

  
  


"Tur Varyar informed us of your placement here. We are, of course, pleased that he has sent a trained Walker to us; we have several children who show Talent and must be trained."

  
  


"Thank you, sir, but I must confess that I am not Mage trained. I have some small skill, but not much beyond what they surely already possess. I cannot mislead you; if you need a Mage, you should send for someone else."

  
  


He tented his fingers in front of his face. "We appreciate your candor. Our children need someone who can teach them some measure of control, and we also wish them to learn something of the outside world. I believe your Teacher thinks you most suited for that position."

  
  


I nodded as another man interrupted him. His tone was more aggressive, challenging. "Why do you not veil yourself as befits a female? Have you no modesty?"

  
  


I cut my eyes toward the first man, unsure if I was meant to answer the question or merely let the comment go. He nodded, a slight encouraging movement of the head. I took a deep breath and formed my words carefully.

  
  


"I do not go veiled, my lord, because it is not the custom for Shadowwalkers to do so. We are dedicated to a different authority." I paused as his face tensed and hastily continued. "I will, of course, be willing to veil myself if it is the wish of the Elders that I do so. I do not wish to offend the custom of this land." I bowed my head and lowered my eyes, hoping that the gesture of submission would obscure the subtle challenge in my words.

  
  


The men murmured amongst themselves. The first man turned to me again, his voice more kind than before. "We are pleased by your willingness to comply with our traditions. We have prepared rooms for you on the fourth level, with the other teachers and our scouts. You will not be expected to assume your duties until later in the week so that you may rest and acquaint yourself with the Keep."

  
  


The men all rose and strode out of the room in a flurry of leaf-colored robes; all but one, I noticed. One man remained seated, tucked into the shadows close to the large fireplace. I watched him; as the heavy doors thudded closed behind the Council, he pushed himself out of his chair and stepped around the table. He looked somehow familiar, a face that tickled at the back of my memory but refused to resolve itself into an identity or recollection. He was taller than the other Elves I had seen here, his build more slender and limbs longer as well. His hair was a deep rusty shade of brown streaked with white-blond and pale red, and his eyes were the same shade of brown as Rain's eyes. His gaze was intense, boring into me so deeply that I felt my chest constrict in fear. I rose from my seat and hurried from the room, unsettled by his eyes. 

  
  


In the corridor, I made a quick right turn, not really paying attention to the direction in which my feet carried me. I quickened my pace when the Council chamber door thudded closed; I could hear the strange man's footsteps echoing behind me in the empty hallway. I did not understand my own fear, my unwillingness to be near him, the almost desperate need to get away that bubbled up in my throat. I turned again, rushing down a flight of stairs to the lower level courtyard into which we had entered. At the bottom of the stairs I broke into a run, my feet pounding against the pale stone of the courtyard. It was raining, a cold dark shower that cast the courtyard into a blurry collection of shapes and shadows. I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. A tall figure like the one that followed me stepped out of a doorway close to me. I was prepared to make another random turn when I slipped on the clammy stone and sprawled full-length on the ground. 

  
  


I lay on the ground, winded, my sodden hood slipping over my eyes. I shoved back the hood and found myself staring at a pair of dark leather boots. Strong hands gripped the back of my robe and started to haul me to my feet. I struggled until I heard Rain's steady voice over the falling rain.

  
  


"Are you hurt? Can you stand?" I nodded and pushed myself out of his grasp. Glancing behind me, I saw the strange man watching me from the arched door of the stairway. I clutched at Rain's sleeve.

  
  


"I need a moment before I stand. I'm fine, I was just lost. I took a wrong turn in the corridor. Could we go inside?" Rain studied my face, his brow wrinkling slightly. He followed my stare toward the dark man in the doorway. The two seemed to lock eyes for a moment; Rain's face tightened, in anger or fear, I could not determine. He turned back to me and nodded.

  
  


"We should go in. You are quite wet, and I still need to show you to your rooms."

  
  


Another voice rang through the rain. "Wait." Rain laid his hand on my arm, both protective and soothing.

  
  


The strange man stood over me, his arms crossed, staring down at me. Finally he spoke again, his voice a smooth deep tone that rolled over my ears like distant thunder.

  
  


"It has been many years, true, but I had expected that you would still recognize me." He waited, a grim smile tightening his lips. I shook my head, a slight movement of confusion and ignorance that seemed to disappoint him.

  
  


"I am sorry, my lord. Your face is familiar, yet I cannot place a name to it, nor do I know why it is I seem to recognize you. Are we kin?"

  
  


He chuckled at my confusion and knelt on the wet stones before me. "They have taught you pretty manners at that place, Mornië. You've grown well. Your mother would have been proud to see you thus. We never thought you would return to this place."

  
  


My breath caught in my throat; the world seemed to slip and tilt beneath me. "Father?"

  
  


He grabbed me by both shoulders and dragged me into his arms. I clung to him, sobbing, gripping his clothes in both fists. I heard him laugh again, a soft strangled sound, heavy with tears.

  
  


"Daughter, do not cry. Surely Tur Varyar breeds his Walkers of sterner stuff than this. Didn't you expect to see your family?" He stroked my hair, pressing my head against his shoulder with one calloused hand. He fiddled with a few strands of my hair that had fallen out of the tight braids, tucking stray ends back into place and tidying the pins that were working loose. I wiped my eyes and pulled back from him slightly, drinking in his features.

  
  


"No. I never thought that I would see you. Father, so many of those around Twilight Keep have died in the last few years that I truly did not expect the Elders here to be much older than I." I couldn't let go of him, couldn't force my fingers to unclench from his garments even though I knew neither of us were comfortable. Eventually he pried my fingers out of his robe and levered himself onto his feet; he helped me up and straightened my robes.

  
  


"I should show you to your rooms. Doubtless Rain would do so himself, but I would very much like to spend more time with my daughter." He tucked my hand into the crook of his arm and led me into the keep.

  
  


~***~


	20. Chapter Twenty

The first few weeks at Storm Keep passed quickly; once I settled in and learned the rhythm of the days, I was too busy to think often about my companions at Twilight Keep. Aragorn sent several messages by rider, and each letter contained a carefully worded note from Legolas. I was puzzled by the distant, formal tone of the notes until I realized that he was concerned that the letters might be read by Varyar. I tried to write as often as I could, mostly short notes about my duties and my students. I wanted to discuss the defense of the Keep but was sadly aware that any message with too much detail could potentially be captured by our enemies.

  
  


Sára stepped in to take over what should have been my own combat students; I gratefully allowed her to push me out of that duty, knowing as well as she that I could hardly teach what I did not myself know how to do. This, in turn, freed me to work more closely with the half-dozen Gifted students, each of whom showed some promise at Magery. I couldn't help them much beyond teaching them to shield and to work a few simple castings, but they certainly needed what little I could teach. I also had duties teaching both Talented and unTalented children; the Elders asked me to instruct them in languages and the information I had gathered in my travels.

  
  


Two months slid by in a comfortable pattern of study and work, and we all began to feel that the storm of war had passed us by. I slowly adjusted to the customs of the place; I reluctantly adopted the shroud-like veil worn by most of the women but remained deeply resentful that the same was not expected of Sára. I tried to fit in with my Clanspeople yet somehow always remained on the fringes, unacknowledged, barely tolerated.

  
  


Rain and my father were exceptions to the shunning; they each sought my company whenever possible. With them, I began to feel as if I had a family again, one that would not turn me out or abandon me for any reason. Father asked questions constantly, wanting to know every detail of my life. He was delighted that I had found someone to care for and often mentioned that he wanted to meet Legolas. Rain became my constant companion; he and Sara and I spent most of our leisure time together. Despite their companionship, I was terribly lonely; accustomed to the constant presence of friendly people, the sparse, silent halls of Storm Keep seemed like the worst kind of prison. I did not sleep but that I dreamed of Legolas and sunlight.

  
  


A third month passed; snow lay deep in the forests, the stone floors throughout the Keep froze and cracked, and even the deep pool glazed over with a thin layer of rotting ice. Winter was always a hard month at Twilight Keep--the causeway itself tended to freeze over for several weeks, preventing anyone from leaving--but somehow this Forest winter was much worse. The sky was perpetually overcast and grey, and as the winter wore on, I found my mood matching the skies. Although I enjoyed my duties and genuinely cared about my students, there were many days when I wished I could hide away in my rooms. I often caught myself staring out a window, lost in thought, as my students practiced simple spellwork. Several times I retreated to my rooms in the middle of the day, overcome by tears and a feeling of loneliness so profound I was unable to express it. I missed my friends desperately and felt Legolas's absence most keenly. I fretted over each message from Aragorn, poring over the letters for comfort and companionship as much as the few scraps of information they contained.

  
  


Rain worried over me as none of the others did. He tried to break my dark mood, inviting me to wander the closer woods or twisting corridors of the Keep with him; on more than one occasion, he wheedled me into riding out with him to scout along the borders of our Clan territory. However, even his company became painful to me, the strain of pretending my own misery was but a passing emotion too great to maintain for long periods of time. I sought out isolated rooms in the Keep where I knew Rain seldom ventured and retreated further into myself with each passing day.

  
  


~***~

I sat in a corner of the vast conservatory, hidden among the lush greenery of the indoor gardens that supplied the Keep with food for the winter. My usual chair was close to one of the thick windows, positioned perfectly to catch whatever heat the watery sunlight produced. I wrapped myself in my robes, drawing my black veil close around my face to avoid scrutiny. I stared out the window, absently noting the heavy sleet that poured out of the leaden skies and coated the ancient trees with a slick sheath of ice. I fingered the thick book that lay untouched in my lap, flipping through the pages without really realizing what I was doing. A slight noise behind me caught my attention; I started to rise from my chair. A gentle hand on my shoulder pressed me back into my seat.

  
  


Rain lowered himself onto the window sill in front of me, blocking out the bleak landscape beyond. His angular face was drawn with worry, his eyes sad and tired.

  
  


"Mornië, it grieves me to see you so unhappy here. Is there nothing that would cheer you?" The compassion in his voice stabbed through me; I choked on my own breath as the familiar grief surged within me. He touched my arm as tears began to soak through the fabric of my veil.

  
  


"Please, cousin. You cannot continue to grieve so. Your health suffers--we have all noticed that you eat little and sleep even less. You are nervous and shaking, and you do not look well. Can you not tell me what causes such melancholy?" 

  
  


I twisted the lower hem of my veil, picking at the fine threads of the fabric until they pulled and frayed. He grasped my hands to prevent me from shredding the delicate fabric. I stared at his fingers covering mine, suddenly remembering another pair of hands that had often held my own in much the same way. I raised my eyes to his, feeling tears squeeze beneath the lids.

  
  


"I do not know, Rain. Perhaps it is the weather. I am not accustomed to such...dreariness." My voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. He shook his head impatiently.

  
  


"I do not believe that such deep unhappiness is merely a result of the weather." His eyes were a weight against my face, exhausting me with their scrutiny. "Cousin. You need not keep your feelings from me. We are not Shadowwalkers here-- we will not fault you for feeling."

  
  


Before I could stop myself, I blurted out every thought that had been circling in my head for the last month. "I miss them, Rain. I miss my friends. They were the only family I ever really knew, and now I have no one. I cannot seem to fit in here. I know it sounds childish, but I am so very lonely that some days I wish I could join those that have passed beyond this life."

  
  


A sharp intake of breath snapped my eyes up from my lap. His face was a mask of disbelief and horror. "You cannot mean that, cousin. Surely things are not so dire."

  
  


I couldn't stop weeping. Rain pulled me against his chest, cradling me as gently as I had seen him hold an injured bird. He peeled the clammy veil away from my face, dropping it onto the floor, and rocked me as my weeping escalated into deep, tearing sobs that ripped up out of my chest.

  
  


"Why? Why must I watch all those I love pass while I am still trapped in this life? I am so tired, Rain. All I want is to sleep and never wake."

  
  


He wrapped his arms more tightly around me. "Would you grieve yourself to death for those who have passed and leave behind all those who still care about you? What about them, Mornië? What about this Elf that you love-what will happen to him if you waste away?"

  
  


I pushed him away from me then, struggling to my feet. "It's been almost four months, Rain. He has neither visited nor written any letter longer than a line or two. I do not even know if remains at Twilight or if he has returned to his own home. I doubt he would be greatly affected by the loss of me." I whirled and hurried from the room to hide in my own chambers, but found them crowded with servants for a weekly cleaning. I stalked along the hallway and slammed out of the outer doors into the wide courtyard. Before I could be stopped or questioned, I slipped out through the gates into Deep Forest.

  
  


~***~


	21. Chapter Twentyone

The deep snow muffled my footsteps as I wandered among the dark trees. I lost sight of the Keep after several minutes; I kept walking as the afternoon sun grew dim. The sleet eventually turned to snow, but not before I was drenched to the skin and shivering with cold and a thick crust of ice coated the shoulders of my robes. My feet were also soaked despite my thick boots; soon, I could barely feel my toes.

  
  


I forced myself to walk another quarter of an hour, until I was sure that I could not be easily found. Unfortunately, as I discovered, in trying to hide myself I had actually lost myself. The swiftly accumulating snow had covered my tracks, and my sense of direction, already somewhat poor, was confounded by the sameness of the trees around me. I settled down at the foot of one of the giant trees to rest.

  
  


"What were you thinking, wandering off alone from the Keep?" I spoke aloud as much for the company as from my old habits. I gazed around me; the sky was darkening frighteningly quickly, and a chilly breeze whipped through the forest, tearing at my damp hair. I shivered, wrapping my clammy robes around me. "Stupid. Stupid girl. Pray the Goddess you will last out the night, for that is all you can hope for at the moment."

  
  


I was afraid to keep walking, entirely unable to determine from which way I had come, and unsure of the distance to the next Clan holding. I shook my head tiredly.

  
  


"No. Don't try to find it. Stay put. Someone will have noticed your absence by now and surely they will come looking for you." I shuddered as the wind increased to a deafening roar. I snuggled deeper into my robe to escape the cutting wind. As I warmed, I felt myself growing more and more sleepy; it crossed my mind that perhaps this was the solution to my misery. It would be so very easy, nothing more than a short sleep followed by endless rest, and I would be free of the world. I closed my eyes and laid back against the trunk of the tree.

  
  


I was awakened by a hand on my shoulder, an insistent voice boring into the cocoon of sleep. 

  
  


"Wake up. You must wake up. Beloved, you are freezing- try to wake up." I fought my up through sleep into a dark, icy wakefulness. I pried my eyes open, expecting to see Legolas.

  
  


Instead of blue eyes, I was greeted by an achingly familiar pair of hazel eyes. I gasped, jerking away from his hands. I struggled to my feet in a panic, backing away from his tall figure. I squeezed my eyes shut again.

  
  


"I'm dreaming. Either I'm dreaming, or hallucinating, or I've died."

  
  


Ambar chuckled almost inaudibly. "You are awake, my love, and alive." He extended his hand toward me, but I backed away again.

  
  


"You aren't real. You can't be real. You're dead." My breath came in ragged, sobbing gasps, my eyes clouded with tears. He grabbed the shoulder of my robes and pulled me to him, twining his powerful arms around me and cradling my head against his chest. 

  
  


"No. Not dead, merely lost for a while." He pressed his lips to my hair; his warm breath brushed across my cold ear. I was dazed, unable to grasp what was happening to me. He pulled away from me slightly, gazing into my eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was soft, hypnotic. The world seemed to slide curiously in and out of focus. Everything around me dimmed and hushed as if I was wrapped in heavy fabric--everything, that is, except his eyes. His eyes drilled into me, pinning my gaze to his.

  
  


"Mornië, I have missed you so. Please forgive me--I could not come to you sooner, but you have never been out of my thoughts, not even for a moment. We can be together now, and everything will be different for us. I promise. We will be together again."

  
  


A distant shout interrupted his words. A horn sounded, and I could hear several voices approaching us. He stepped away from me then, a slight smile on his face.

  
  


"You have been found. I must go now; I think perhaps I would be difficult to explain."

  
  


"Wait. Don't go. Please don't leave me again. Please." I reached for him, but he put my hand away from his arm. 

  
  


"I must. We will see each other again soon." He melted into the trees as silent as one of my own kin. I was rooted to the spot, shaking with cold and reaction, frigid tears smearing across my cheeks. The group of searchers burst into the small clearing; Rain sprinted to my side. He flung a heavy blanket around my shoulders, then shook me fiercely.

  
  


"What is in your head? Have you lost your senses--what if we hadn't found you? You would have died, did you think of that? Or is that what you were trying to do?" I stared at him, still shocked. Something in my eyes must have alerted him; he gripped my shoulders harder and stared into my face. "What is it? What has happened?"

  
  


I shook my head, now clouded with fatigue and confusion; the world seemed to slip and tilt beneath my feet. Rain caught me just before I collapsed into the snow.

  
  


~***~

I drifted in and out of consciousness for the next several days. The long exposure to the cold left a chill in my bones that would not lift; my lungs filled with fluid and rattled alarmingly whenever I breathed. My fever spiked several times, leaving me weak and trembling, after which I would shake with chills. My father seldom left my side, sleeping in a large chair and sitting by my bed when I was awake. The illness was only complicated by the same heavy grief that had weighed on me for the last months and a new ache of loneliness and longing. I dreamed of Ambar when I slept and daydreamed when awake; all my thoughts, fevered as they were, seemed to center on the few words we had exchanged in the Forest.

  
  


He visited me, during those long days of fever and despair. Whenever my father could be coaxed away from my bed, Ambar would appear shortly after. He spoke to me; though I was too ill to remember what he said, I understood that he intended us to be together. Each time he came to me, I seemed to improve a little, and each time he left, the illness returned in strength.

  
  


On the sixth day of my illness, Father entered my room with a grave expression on his face. He sat on the edge of my bed and took my hand.

  
  


"Daughter. Listen to me. Rain has told me how unhappy you are here and how much you miss your companions. I would not see you suffer so when it can be prevented."

  
  


I sighed, saddened by his worry. "There is nothing to be done, Father. They have their duties, as I have mine, and that duty must ever come first. I used to know that, but it seems I have forgotten. What cannot be helped must be endured."

  
  


His brows knitted together. "What do you mean, daughter? What cannot be helped?"

  
  


"I have had the great misfortune to hope that responsibility could be overcome by love. Now, I am not convinced that love ever existed." I turned my eyes to the blanket and picked at the hem with my nails.

  
  


He squeezed my hand, smiling slightly. "I think you are mistaken, child." He rose, gazing down at me. "We sent a rider to Twilight Keep with news of your illness. Your friends are quite concerned for you--one friend is particularly worried."

  
  


I closed my eyes. "I fail to see what possible good sending a message to them could do. They cannot come. Or will not. I know not which and, maybe, I can learn not to care."

  
  


"Would you erase us from your heart, then, and never look kindly upon us again?" Legolas's clear voice sounded from the doorway. I watched him, curiously unaffected by his presence, as he crossed the room to sit by my side. He was smiling, and I remembered a time when that smile would have almost undone me. Now...Ambar's face rose before my eyes, blocking Legolas from my sight. I turned my head away from him, gazing out the window at the falling snow.

  
  


Legolas seated himself on the edge of the bed and took my hand; my father slipped out of the room, making a vague excuse about work to attend. Legolas touched my chin gently to draw my attention away from the window; I must have been slow to respond, for when I turned to him, his face was troubled and confused.

  
  


"Melda, you seem...distressed. Can I be of assistance?"

  
  


"I am not distressed, my lord. Even if I were, there would be nothing you could do. I am sorry that my father sent for you-I'm sure it was a great inconvenience, and there is no need for you to stay." I turned back to the window, hoping that he would leave.

  
  


He sighed, a single sound of exhaustion tinged with irritation. "Mornië, I came because you are ill and I care about you, not because your father asked. Are you angry with me? Is that why you are so cold towards me?" He waited as I continued to stare out the window in silence. "Beloved. Please talk to me. I do not know what to say to ease your mind, or even if my presence here is upsetting to you."

  
  


I heard the plea in his voice, a tone that seemed disturbingly foreign to him. Some part of my mind whispered at me to look at him, to remember something about him...eventually, he sighed again and rose from the bed.

  
  


"Aragorn has given me leave to stay a while yet. If you should wish to see me, you have only to call for me." He touched my face again, hesitantly, and slipped out of the room. As the door swung shut behind him, I let myself slide into sleep and dreams of Ambar.


	22. Chapter Twentytwo

Legolas leaned against the heavy wooden door. He pressed his palms to his forehead, thinking. 

  
  


What has happened to her? It was almost as if she didn't know me... He was snapped out of his thoughts by a soft tenor voice.

  
  


"I see you've had no better luck with her than I." Legolas examined the tall Elf warily; he had seen him moving silently through the halls as Legolas arrived. The tall Elf smiled grimly and extended his forearm to Legolas.

  
  


"My apologies. I did not mean to startle you. I'm Mornië's cousin Rain." Legolas gripped his forearm in return. Rain glanced at the closed door and shook his head. "She has been so different since we found her. She hardly speaks to anyone except her father, and she stares out the window constantly. I'm afraid she's going to keep herself ill."

  
  


He shook his head again, then seemed to remember Legolas was there. "Come. You must be tired and hungry. We can talk more over dinner."

  
  


Rain led him through the winding hallways to the opposite side of the Keep. He pushed open another wooden door and motioned Legolas inside. Rather than the eating hall Legolas had expected, the room behind the door was a comfortable private chamber furnished with warmly upholstered chairs. A tempting array of food was laid on a side table along with several glass flagons of wine and water. Rain gestured toward a chair by the fire and began to pile food onto two plates.

  
  


Legolas studied the room; it seemed quite large for one person and had more furniture than he expected. As Rain sat in the opposite chair, he noticed the quizzical expression on Legolas's face. 

  
  


"Scout's privilege. These are the quarters for all the Forest scouts; we share a common room and have our own sleeping quarters." He pointed toward a narrow hallway that connected to the back of the room. "The teachers' quarters are set up in the same way; Mornië has a separate room only because the other rooms were full when she arrived."

  
  


The two sat for a time, each lost in dinner and his own thoughts. Legolas spoke first.

  
  


"What happened that day, Rain? Perhaps we can figure out her behavior if we know what happened."

  
  


Rain nodded and swallowed a long drink of wine. "She slipped out when no one was paying attention. She'd been very unhappy and I tried to convince her to talk to me. I'm afraid I may have pushed her into fleeing the Keep." He raked his hand through his long hair, twisting the ends nervously.

  
  


"Why was she unhappy?"

  
  


"Mostly I believe she was lonely. Our Clan does not readily accept strangers, especially those who are so different from us. Sara has been busy with the fighters; I don't think they saw much of each other after the first couple of weeks."

  
  


"What about her students? Their parents? How did they respond to her?"

  
  


Rain shrugged slightly. "I've heard no complaints. Her students seem to like her. A few of the parents have mentioned that they appreciate her teaching other languages."

  
  


Legolas thought carefully. "So, she was not particularly disliked, only treated with a great deal of caution. That is understandable, given the circumstances in your land." He pondered. "What else, Rain? You said you may have pushed her away. What did you mean?"

  
  


Rain covered his eyes with one hand. "She missed you so much, Legolas. Every day that passed she withdrew more and more. She hid from us, stopped eating, stopped sleeping, cried for no reason that I could see. I confronted her that afternoon. I thought if I could force her to understand what grieving herself to death might do to you, she would pull herself out of it. I was mistaken." He closed his eyes, a wince of pain and regret.

  
  


Legolas grasped his shoulder. "You are not to blame, my friend. She is given to melancholy, I think; I have seen her thus, though never so severe as you describe. She would flee from you if she was not ready to hear what you said. But I do not understand why she is so cold to me now, if, as you say, she missed me then."

  
  


Rain shook his dark head. "I don't know. It took us several hours to find her. She had no cloak or heavy boots; by the time we found her she was nearly frozen, covered in ice. She seemed... dazed... frightened, almost. And-" he jerked his head impatiently.

  
  


"What is it?"

  
  


Rain shifted nervously. "It's probably not significant, but when we found her, as we were approaching I thought I saw someone standing with her. It was probably just my eyes playing tricks with me."

  
  


Legolas leaned forward in his chair, intent on Rain's words. "What did this person look like? Did you recognize who it was?"

  
  


"No. I didn't know him, but he was wearing robes like Mornië's. They were grey, though, not blue. Do you know him?"

  
  


"No. But he must have been a Shadowwalker, if he wore robes like hers. Grey is the color of Shadowwalker Mages, though. And that, my friend, is the puzzle."

  
  


Rain was confused. "Why is it a puzzle? We should be able to determine his identity fairly simply, shouldn't we?"

  
  


"We could, more easily than you realize. So many of the mages fell at Twilight Keep that there are only a handful left. That is not the puzzle." Legolas's voice was flat, his face grim. "The puzzle is this: none of the surviving Shadowwalker Mages were male. So who is this man?"

  
  


~***~

"Beloved. Wake up, my love. I wish to see you."

  
  


I jerked out of my doze fully awake and alert. Ambar's voice was clear in my head, calling to me.

  
  


"Come to the library. I will meet you there."

  
  


I slipped out of the bed and tugged on a robe and veil. No one was in the halls; I crossed the Keep to the library entirely unnoticed and let myself into the library. I prowled through the stacks until I saw him silhouetted against one of the high windows. Ambar turned toward me. My breath caught as the moonlight fell across his lean face, bathing him in cool silvery light.

  
  


I found myself in his arms, held close against his chest. The smell of him was so familiar, warm and clean with a touch of spice and grass. He tipped my chin up and kissed me; the sensation was so sweetly right that tears rolled down my cheeks. He deepened the kiss, plundering every corner of my mouth, burying his hands in my hair until I winced from the pressure.

  
  


He pulled away from me before I was ready to let him go; he smiled at the tiny sound of protest that escaped my lips. He caught my hand in his, raising it to his lips.

  
  


"Do not fret, my love. We will have all the time we wish. I have things I must do first, so we will not see much of each other for a time." He watched my reaction carefully.

  
  


I felt tears well up in my eyes again, my breathing speed up, my heart pound. I clung to his hand. "Must you go? So soon? Can you not stay a little longer?" 

  
  


He shook his head sadly. "I cannot. I am needed elsewhere. I have much to do and many who depend on me to accomplish certain things." He watched me carefully again. "You could help me, though."

  
  


I nodded, eager to be of use. He smiled approvingly. "I need you to gather some information for me, beloved. You're a scholar, I know you can do this."

  
  


"What sort of information?"

  
  


"I need you to keep track of the Shadowwalker's plans against the Easterlings. Do you still have contacts at Twilight Keep?"

  
  


I frowned, suddenly uneasy. "I do, but why would you need such information?"

  
  


He stepped toward me again, cupping my cheek in his hand. "There are other enemies of the Easterlings, dearest. Elves we knew nothing about, and Men as well. We need to know what Twilight Keep plans so that we can be effective as well."

  
  


"But...I am not privy to their plans, Ambar. Why do you not go to Varyar, or to Aragorn, and ask for an alliance? The Westerners would gladly have your help." 

  
  


He laid his other hand against my face, staring into my eyes. His voice lowered and grew soothing, absorbing all my attention. "I need your help, my love. Then we can be together. Just say yes."

  
  


I felt lightheaded, as if I was drowning in the still air of the room. His voice swelled in my ears, his words blotting out all other thoughts. Numbly, I nodded assent. He broke into a sunny grin and kissed me again.

  
  


"How am I to send you this information? Where will you be?" A small part of my mind cringed at the pleading tone in my voice, but it could no more control what I said than a flower could control the sun.

  
  


"Leave it by the library window." He stroked my face, and all thoughts of rebellion melted into fog. "I will see you soon. Come when I call you." He kissed me a third time and disappeared into the stacks. 

  
  


A sudden wave of dizziness washed over me. I grabbed for a shelf as my knees began to buckle; dimly, I was aware of books falling from the shelves as I collapsed onto the floor. I huddled on the warm wooden floor, sick with nausea and despair.

  
  


~***~

Rain and Legolas found me there less than an hour later; I told them I had been trying to find some book I wanted to read and had become dizzy. They seemed skeptical but didn't question me closely, for which I was profoundly grateful. I allowed them to escort me back to my rooms, but turned them away at the door, unwilling to open the possibility of prying questions. I locked the door for the first time since I had come to Storm Keep and buried myself in a pile of letters from Aragorn.

  
  


By morning, I had copied a few letters more than half of the correspondence Aragorn had sent from Twilight Keep. I worked feverishly, at times entirely unaware of what my hands were doing. Throughout the long night I carefully sketched maps and strategy plans to accompany the written descriptions, and included a copy of the map I had created for Aragorn before we left Minas Tirith. As the first glimmerings of morning crept across the horizon, I carefully gathered the copies into a single package, wrapped it in dark paper, and tied the bundle with a piece of string. A wave of dizziness washed over me as I rose from the desk. I stared down at the bundle lying between my hands, feeling curiously detached from my own deeds. 

  
  


For a moment, I thought about not delivering the package. It would be so easy to destroy it, toss the whole bundle into the fire, lose it down a well or privy-shaft. I fingered the thin string binding, considering my options. Almost as soon as the decision to burn it was made, a heavy fog seemed to descend over my mind, and the thought slipped away as easily as it had come. I gathered the parcel of papers in my arms and hurried through the corridor to deposit the precious information in the library.

  
  


~***~

  
  



	23. Chapter Twentythree

"Mornië. Why are you not resting, sister?" I startled badly at the soft voice that whispered from a hidden corner of the library. The package of notes slipped from my grasp; it hit the floor with a heavy thump and split open, splattering papers across the library floor. I gasped aloud and dropped to my knees, frantically gathering the pages.

  
  


"I see illness hasn't improved your coordination. Here, let me help you." Sára knelt in a swift motion. She snatched one of the maps just as I reached for it. As she read it, her face grew steadily more troubled; her dark eyes, when she looked at me again, were worried.

  
  


"Sister, what is this?" Her voice was laced with suspicion. She stared at me, waiting.

  
  


I turned away from her, terrified she would see the guilt on my face, and reached for another paper. Her hand lashed out, gripping my wrist in her strong fingers, grinding the fine bones of my arm. I struggled against her but, weakened as I was by illness and fatigue, I could not pry loose from her. I lunged backwards, hoping to wrest myself free. She followed the motion, allowing my own momentum to topple me onto the floor; she pinned me to the chilly stone with her full weight. I fought her, desperate to complete my promised task.

  
  


"What are you doing? Tell me." She forced my wrists against my chest, preventing me from wiggling free or reaching for Rage. "Who are you giving this information to?" 

  
  


She raised one hand threateningly; before the blow could land, she was yanked off me. I scrambled away from the center of the room, snatching at maps and notes as I went. Rain hefted Sára off her feet, dragging her out of reach. Legolas stepped between us; my father slammed the library door and barred it.

  
  


Rain lowered Sára to her feet but still gripped her shoulders tightly. I curled myself into a tight ball beneath the window, wrapping myself in my robes against a sudden fit of shivering; I shook and sobbed painfully, terrified for no reason I could name or understand. Legolas knelt beside me, gently stroking my shoulder, murmuring soft words to soothe me. He turned to Sára.

  
  


"What happened? Why would you strike her?" His voice fell like stones into the silence of the long room; I could hear the tightly controlled anger behind his even words. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he fixed frosty eyes on Sara.

  
  


"She's a traitor." Sara's voice was a venomous hiss. Legolas stiffened, gripping my shoulder.

  
  


"Sara, I do not know what injury she has done you, but such a charge is surely unwarranted."

  
  


Sára jerked away from Rain's restraining hand. She snatched a handful of paper from the floor and thrust it at Legolas.

  
  


"She's sending information to someone. Look, it's all here--maps, defense plans, everything anyone would need to destroy us." He slowly reached for the papers in her trembling hand. He rifled through them, dropping them to the floor as he finished each one.

  
  


Rain caught one of the papers as it fell. He scanned it quickly, his face granite. 

  
  


"She's right, Legolas. This is a map of this Keep, with all the defense points marked. I fear my cousin has sold us to our enemies."

  
  


Legolas shook his fair head in disbelief. "That cannot be true. Perhaps you are mistaken." He turned to me; his blue eyes were grave, yet trusting.

  
  


"Mornië. Tell them. Tell me-what does this mean? Who is this information for?"

  
  


"He's not an enemy. Please, I must get this information to him, it's important, please." I tried to push past Legolas, to retrieve the precious pages, but he blocked my path. I lashed out at him, catching his cheekbone with a flailing palm. The flat crack of my hand across his cheek rang in my ears; I seemed to watch myself from a great distance, aghast at my own actions as if they were those of a stranger. He dragged me into his arms, restraining me gently but firmly while I twisted and scratched and railed at him in both our languages, cursing him in phrases so vile even my father winced. I fought him as I had fought Sára, but he easily controlled me. Father stepped forward once, a protest forming itself on his lips; Legolas waved him away and gripped my arms tighter. 

  
  


Eventually, I sagged against his chest, exhausted by my pointless struggling. He cradled me carefully, still wary of me. Tears welled up, salty and shameful, spilling over my cheeks and soaking into his tunic. He pressed my head against his shoulder, gathering my hair away from my face.

  
  


"Beloved. I do not know what has driven you to this point, but I will help you if I can. We all will, but you must tell us why you have done this thing. Has someone threatened you, or hurt you?"

  
  


I shook my head. "You cannot help me. I do not want your help, or your sympathy. I want nothing other than to be left alone to complete what I promised."

  
  


Rain knelt beside us. "What you promised to whom, cousin? Did someone coerce you into this treachery?" Legolas glared at him, motioning him to be silent. 

  
  


"You cannot understand how terrible it has been. Now he is returned to me, and I will do whatever he asks of me so long as he does not leave me again." I could not meet their eyes although I knew everyone watched me. 

  
  


Rain stood and moved beside Sara; when I peeked at them below my lashes, they both wore identical expressions of anger and distrust. My father pressed his fingers to his forehead, refusing to look at me. He shook his head, then motioned toward Sara and Rain. His voice, when he spoke, was terrible and sad. 

  
  


"Daughter, I do not wish to believe that you have betrayed us, but the evidence against you is damning. As an Elder of this Keep, I cannot allow you the opportunity to continue such treachery. Sara, Rain, take her to her rooms. See that she remains there until the Council can decide her punishment."

  
  


Legolas stepped between us, one hand on his knife. His eyes were ablaze with defiance, his body taut and wary. Father gripped his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

  
  


"My friend, do not interfere in this. You only endanger yourself. I promise you, she will not be harmed." Reluctantly, Legolas allowed Father to draw him aside so that the other two could approach.

  
  


I was hauled to my feet by rough hands grasping my upper arms. Rage was dragged from her scabbard at my side. I struggled fruitlessly; they dragged me out of the library and through the corridors to my quarters. Legolas followed close behind us, watching to ensure my safety. I was lost in the fog that seemed to be my perpetual companion, stumbling over my own feet in a haze of confusion and dizziness. I barely noticed my own door opening, the ungentle shove that thrust me into the room, the heavy metallic ring of the lock snapping into place.

  
  


I stood in the center of the room for what seemed an eternity, waiting for I knew not what. Slowly, almost as if wading through mud, I stripped off my heavy outer robes and slipped off my shoes. I wandered over to the chair by the window and sank into its softness, staring out the window to the Forests beyond the Keep.

  
  



End file.
